Brothers and Sisters
by Pilleriin
Summary: Set some time after Season 7.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1.**

Spence and Stella both seem to start the new working week in excellent mood, the jovial chatter on their way downstairs revolving around respective well-spent weekends. It only lasts until they reach the basement headquarters of the CCU. The usual gloomy atmosphere of the place isn't the only reason for such impact on this Monday morning.

''What the hell's happened here!?'' Spence exclaims right on the squad room doorstep, catching a glimpse of their evidence board. ''Where are all the notes I wrote last thing Friday evening?''

Grace is already there, so the questioning eyes of the younger colleagues turn to her.

She gives them a confused smile and shrugs. ''Don't look at me, I'm in total darkness as well. I only just got here,'' she explains, peeling the long luxurious scarf off her shoulders and staring the board with equal astonishment.

Stella takes a step closer to examine the unfamiliar photos and names with curiosity.  
''Looks like Boyd's taken a new case,'' she points out the already obvious.

''Just marvellous!'' Spence's reaction is full of unconcealed sarcasm. He lands on the nearest chair, throws a quick glance in the direction of Boyd's office – the blinders are shut and the door firmly closed - hard to tell whether the occupant is present or not – and to be on the safe side continues expressing his discontent in hushed voice.

''As if we weren't up to our ears in work already!'', he complains, gloomily indicating the heaps of files on his desk. ''Feels like he's got some hidden agenda for picking out all the most hopeless cases everybody else has given up on ages ago. And naturally nothing can go back on the shelf on some stupid principle! These ancient Remington murders were to top everything – weeks of digging through the dusty files and countless interviews with all the bloody nursing home candidates who wouldn't remember any details 30 years later even if they had killed anyone themselves... Last week things finally started to make at least some sense... and now,'' he shakes his head in disbelief, '' _now_ he decides to drop it just like that...''

The door of Boyd's office flings open so suddenly, they all nearly jump.

''We're not going to drop anything,'' the familiar loud baritone echoes over the squad-room, ''we will most certainly return to the Remington murders as soon as possible. Right now we've got something much more urgent to deal with.''

Their boss looks his usual impressive and well-groomed self - flawlessly trimmed goatee beard, expensive grey tailor suit, the glasses on his nose just add a touch of respectability. Though he seems to be seething with energy at first sight, Grace registers the tell-tale dark shadows under his eyes - clear evidence of yet another sleepless night behind office desk.

''That much we've got to start with - get yourselves acquainted!'' An impressive stack of files Boyd's carrying lands straight in the middle of Spence's desk. ''As soon as Eve's ready, we'll have a team-meeting.''

He marches purposefully out of the squad-room, heading to the lab to urge on poor Eve apparently.

''How the hell did he hear me?'' Spence sounds truly perplexed. ''The door was shut... Is he able to hear through walls now, or what?''

''Considering how many nights he spends here plus all that sitting behind closed blinders most of the day-time as well - he's probably developed night vision too,'' Stella offers, chuckling.

''The habit of bloodsucking is not in the very distant future either, he sure knows how to drain all life out of me already,'' Spence grumbles, eyeing Boyd's generous addition to his already over-burdened desk with resentment.

His grim prediction only increases Stella's amusement.

''You know what this new case and extraordinary team-meeting mean - '', Spence continues his rant, ''no time for lunch break once again. Well, I'm not going to risk getting ulcers because of him, I'll go for a pizza right away. If Boyd's back before me, tell him I had to finish something urgent regarding the Remington case.''

''OK, I'll cover you!'', Stella promises, blinking slyly.

This little impertinent conspiracy of younger colleagues makes Grace smirk. Deep inside she is worried, having watched Boyd's recent tendency of prolonging his working hours to equal his waking hours with growing concern. And the possible acquirement of any supernatural powers is not what she's afraid of. Months after Luke's funeral Boyd seemed to be coping relatively well with his loss. In his habitual way though - without accepting any support nor sharing his emotional burden with anyone. But to her relief he apparently reached some state of balance and acceptance on his own, the hardest phase hopefully overcome. And now such an unexpected relapse into solitary brooding and skipping meals. Plus the very characteristic desperate attempt to bury himself completely in work. She may not be aware of the exact cause, but knows the man long enough to recognize that to be his usual way of putting off dealing with something he's not comfortable with. Unfortunately all her efforts to discover the source of his distress proved futile so far, Boyd being more reticent and unapproachable than ever before, deliberately eluding any chance of heart-to-heart conversation.

* * *

Boyd returns with Eve half an hour later, unquestionably expecting to find earnest working atmosphere in the squad-room, not a frolicsome bunch enjoying their improvised feast. Before he can express his annoyance with the intervening circumstances in the habitual loud way, Grace quickly saves the situation with a witty remark that full stomach might help to stimulate their brain-work. Boyd's reaction is confined to disgruntled mutter and very contemptuous look. He bluntly refuses all whole-hearted offers to join in, obviously determined to make a clear point of his disapproval. Eve on the other hand doesn't need asking twice.

Giving his disobedient crew one more withering look, Boyd demonstratively turns his back to them, crosses his arms and concentrates his attention on the evidence board.  
A picture of a smiling blonde blue-eyed boy. Right under it another photo of the same child, but on that one his face is pale and lifeless, light curls covered with dried blood.  
 _5 years ago the body of little Brandon Ellis was left on a park bench, his scull smashed with some blunt object. The drug-addicted mother couldn't give very reliable information about the exact time and circumstances of the boy's disappearance. She had a history of 'forgetting' her child under the care of some relative or friend for lengthy periods and therefore wasn't always aware of Brandon's whereabouts. So it was quite possible that the boy had been missing for a while already.  
_ _The dead child was carefully wrapped in a blood-stained blanket. Forensic analyses revealed that besides the victim's blood there were also several blood drops carrying the DNA of unknown male. That gave the original investigating team something to hold on to. Unfortunately none of their potential suspects matched the DNA profile. Weeks, then months passed without any substantial breakthrough. The initial outrageous media circus around the case subsided gradually. The boy's single mother apparently wasn't too eager to demand the continuation of the search for her child's murderer either, having been on the verge of loosing custody due to her drug problems anyway. Finally the case materials ended up in a cardboard box on the archives shelf.  
_ _The reason he put the slightly faded reminder of this kid in the middle of their evidence board last night was the hideous discovery made on late Friday afternoon, right before the end of the working week. Construction workers renovating a house in a respectable residential area took down an old shed in the backyard and unearthed a little body under the floorboards. The dead child in the shallow grave had fractured skull and was carefully wrapped in a blanket. The initial DNA analyses confirmed that the remains belonged to Jakob Starek, coming from a problematic family of Polish immigrants. 3 years ago Jakob, aged 5 at that time, was about to go into foster care for the time his mother served a prison sentence for thefts. The boy's father was also wanted by the police for multiple offences, but managed to leave the country, supposedly taking his son with him. But as long as there was no full clarity in the matter, little Jakob was listed as a missing person, his exact fate unknown until the grim discovery. Further tests provided the connecting link – some blood traces on Jakob Starek's blanket proved to match identically the DNA evidence from Brandon Ellis' unsolved case.  
_ _Last night, after thorough research, he added one more photo of a kid, who judging by the looks could easily be mistaken for the brother of the other two._ _Marc Carlisle had been under careful scrutiny of the Social Services since he was born, his teenage mother not quite coping with the clearly undesired responsibilities of parenthood. Obviously that wasn't enough to spare the kid from evil fate. 10 months ago, a couple of days after his 5_ _th_ _birthday he disappeared without a trace from a public playground near his home. Speculations, rumours and an abundance of different versions - some plausible, some rather preposterous. But no conclusive answers so far._

Three little blonde angels side by side on the board.  
Boyd takes the yellow marker and strikes a firm line between the photos, separating the dead from the one who could still have hope, no matter how frail.

He casts a look over his shoulder and confirmed that the food supplies have decreased considerably, demands impatiently:  
''Can we start now? I do hope that everybody has some basic idea about what we're dealing with, so I don't have to repeat everything concerning Brandon Ellis all over again. Let's concentrate on the new victim. You're ready, Eve?''

Eve takes a quick sip of coffee to wash down the last mouthful of pizza and gives her detailed report on autopsy results.

''Same murder weapon on both cases?'' Spence wants to specify.

''No, I don't think so. But the MO is very similar still– multiple blows to the head region, by far more than necessary to cause death actually. Literally battered to death.''

''... impulsive behaviour, hardly premeditated. The killer most likely acts in a state of uncontrollable rage, just grabs the nearest suitable object and starts banging...'' Grace joins in.

''And who could possibly do something like that to a 5-year-old child? Ideas _anyone_!?'' Boyd's question is clearly directed to Stella, who's been twiddling with a pencil in a rather absent-minded way, without partaking the discussion so far.

''A paedophile,'' Stella blurts out the first thing that comes to her head. ''The child is not cooperative, starts screaming, hence the danger of being discovered, the killer panics and...''

''That's the stereotype approach the initial investigating team so obstinately clung to,'' Boyd frowns, unsatisfied with such meagre contribution, ''and got nowhere. Besides there was no evidence directly proving any kind of sexual abuse in case of the first victim. The same with Jakob Starek, am I right, Eve?''

''Can't say anything conclusive, considering how long the body has been...'' Eve starts.

''Just give us your opinion,'' Boyd interrupts her.

''My personal opinion doesn't have much weight in court.''

''But you've had victims of sexual violence on your table before, haven't you?''

''I have. Unfortunately.'' she admits gloomily.

''So...? ''

''Well... their injuries aren't typical to sexual violence, no traces of semen on either of the victims nor blankets, both boys fully clad, clothes intact... Yes, probably not the first and only theory to consider, I would say.''

''Enough reason for us to be more open-minded instead of just laying all the blame on some pervert snooping around playgrounds, right!?'' Boyd concludes triumphantly.

''Do we know the approximate time of Jakob Starek's death already?'' Spence wants to know.

''I need to run some further tests to be more accurate, but it's already safe to say that while Brandon Ellis was killed within weeks after presumable abduction, the Polish boy must have survived considerably longer. I'd offer several months, possibly up to a year even. And he was taken proper care of, definitely not suffering from malnutrition. There is one more significant thing: just like Brandon Ellis, Jakob was wearing expensive brand clothes and the model car that was in his trouser pocket - that's no cheap plastic toy either. Considering their background, their own families couldn't have afforded anything like that.''

''So who are we dealing with then – some kind of benefactor picks out kids from lousy homes, takes good care of them, spends a lot of money buying them fancy stuff... Sounds like a would-be saint, don't you think? And then what... ?'', Boyd proceeds pensively, ''What goes so wrong that the boys end up with smashed skulls?''

''Maybe the person who looks after the kid isn't the one that kills him,'' Stella makes a simple, but logical offer.

''The involvement of more people is possible, especially considering the rather long period Jakob Starek apparently survived,'' Eve agrees, ''we just haven't concrete proof so far. But some analyses are still in progress.''

''The way the boys are wrapped in blankets,'' Grace mentions, thoughtfully examining the photos,''– not exactly intending to cover or hide the corpse, but much more like... one would wrap up a little child before putting him to bed. That shows emotional attachment to the victims. The final act of kindness...''

''Emotional he sure is, or full of regret, parts of the blankets are soaked with lachrymal fluid,'' Eve remarks.

''Tears?'' Boyd's eyebrows raise in astonishment.

''Tears. Lots of them. Enough to contain fragments of DNA. Someone must have really wept his heart out over these boys.''

''And the blood-drops and tears on both victims belong to the same person – so far unidentified male?''

Eve nods. ''That's why the original investigation seriously considered the existence of another possible victim. But now that the same biological evidence is found on both bodies and considering the time gap between the two murders, it's obvious that the blood and tears belong to someone who was involved in getting rid of the corpses.''

''I can understand the tears, but what about the blood? Doesn't sound very likely that the killer just injures himself on both occasions. Some weird ritual, perhaps?'', Spence speculates.

''Could be,'' Eve agrees. ''and I hope Grace has some ideas to help us on with that theory. I can only suggest a much less intriguing explanation myself. The way the blood has dripped on the blankets, indicating that the bleeding body part had to be right above the victims makes me think of one more possibility – nosebleed. Getting rid of a dead body certainly is a very stressful situation and if a person has blood pressure problems or some sort of anomaly of intranasal blood vessels... it's not uncommon actually and therefore also worth considering.''

''So if someone gets a nosebleed in our interview room, we've found our culprit,'' Boyd remarks with an ironic smirk, ''That's good to know.''

''I wouldn't count that as solid incriminating evidence, his interview techniques considered,'' Eve makes a barely audible comment to Grace, who's sitting next to her.

''What?'' Boyd demands impatiently.

''Nothing important.'' Both women try their best to remain serious.

'OK, lets get to work then,' Boyd concludes briskly, bringing his palms together with a clap and starts assigning everybody to their respective task.  
''We'll let you back to the lab to your urgent tasks right away, Eve. Grace – you know what I expect from you - a preliminary profile of the potential perpetrator. And I'd love to read your take on our philanthropist's possible metamorphosis into a murderer. Oh, and don't forget that ritual-option either. The rest of us have plenty of basic police work ahead. Brandon Ellis was left in a public park where everyone has access to, but no-one will just bury a body in a completely strange backyard, even if the house is known to be empty. There has to be some connection. Let's try to clear out everything about that house - all the previous owners or tenants, maintenance firms that might have had access to the premises, the neighbours need to be questioned naturally. The Social Services – that's another focus of our interest. Both victims were in their black list - might be significant as well. Let's shake that institution a bit to find out the circle of people who have access to such delicate data. And maybe we can get some extra information about Marc Carlisle from them too.''

''Why is that missing kid on our board at all?'' Spence finally gets the chance to raise the question, he's been looking forward to ask for a while already. ''We don't know for sure that these cases are connected and he hasn't been missing long enough for it being a 'cold' case. We should just concentrate on the two certain victims without making things complicated with something that's not exactly CCU's speciality.

''But he clearly fits the pattern,'' Boyd justifies, ''Same looks, same age, problem background, the unclear circumstances of disappearance... How on earth anybody else hasn't come to this before is a complete mystery to me. I'd wish to be wrong about it, believe me, but everything refers to him being the next target of the killer.''

It's against Spence's nature to waive holding his ground that easily. ''Two murdered kids plus a still missing 5-year-old - we haven't got enough resources nor manpower to cope with all that! And we are about to start knocking doors in a respectable neighbourhood and shaking the Social Services – the bloodhounds of the media are sent on our heals immediately. The upper echelons want to keep up appearances and if we fail to provide results fast enough, we'll be the perfect scapegoats. That's probably the reason this case was foisted on us in the first place.''

Boyd's irritation is distinctly growing. ''No-one's foisted anything on anybody. I requested this case myself.''

''And we all have to risk our careers because you deliberately lead us on a suicide mission!'', Spence confronts him fearlessly.

''Really, Spence, you disappoint me,'' Boyd shakes his head reproachfully, ''I would have never listed you as someone afraid of challenges.''

''Look, sir, I have nothing against working with the case itself.'' Spence sounds clearly disturbed by Boyd's open contempt. ''I just don't like the way you make such important decisions without discussing anything with us at all.''

''You want discussion?'' Boyd's voice raises a fraction more and he gesticulates agitatedly. ''By all means let's do it then. You've already made your standpoint pretty clear. Let's give everybody else a chance to express their opinion as well then. Don't be shy, I'm all in favour of democracy! How about you Stella, do you have a problem with my choice of cases as well?''

Stella is suddenly very busy with arranging some papers on her desk. She keeps her eyes down and gives a nervous head shake in response.

Boyd turns to Eve next. ''Can you handle the extra work this case brings along? Am I demanding too much of you, perhaps?''

Eve's answer is very diplomatic. ''I can manage fine as long as you accept the fact that certain analyses take certain time and I can't give you all the answers right away.''

Grace doesn't like the sudden unpleasantly tense atmosphere in the squad-room the least bit.  
''There really isn't any point in this discussion right now, is there? The case materials are on our board already, so we'd better just try our best and have a go,'' she suggests, wishing to bring the argument to it's end.

''Golden words. The sooner we stop wasting time, the more we get done and you won't have any reason to blame me for making you stay here overtime once again,'' Boyd declares resolutely, topping it off with a bitter sarcasm at his DI's expense: ''Sorry, Spence, but it looks like the Mutiny on the Bounty is not going to happen just yet!''  
He leaves the squad room, the loud bang of his office door clearly reflecting his mood.

Grace remains sitting, drumming against the desk with her fingertips, unable to decide whether talking to Boyd right away would do any good.  
The gloomy and wounded look on Spence's face is enough to make up her mind, so she gets up and decisively heads towards Boyd's office, followed by the anticipating looks of her colleagues. Eve lingers as well, not wanting to miss the match of the Titans. To everybody's disappointment Grace closes the door behind her quietly but firmly.

Boyd casts a challenging over-the-glasses look from behind his desk, clearly prepared for a castigating lecture.

Grace forces herself calm and deliberately avoiding any confrontational gestures, takes a seat opposite him.  
''All this wasn't exactly necessary, was it?'' A suggestion really, barely reproachful or meant to criticize.

The response is childishly obstinate: ''I didn't start it.''.

''Maybe not, but does it automatically entitle you to scolding and ordering everybody around then? Your colleagues deserve some respect still, they are qualified professionals not children...''

Boyd cuts in heatedly. ''You're damn right about that, they're not _children,_ '' he lays extra stress on the word, ''we've got _children_ on our evidence-board, _dead_ _children_ , brutally murdered. All I want is this team of finest professionals to show a little bit more interest and enthusiasm in trying to catch the bastard who killed them. Is giving these unfortunate kids justice really too much to ask?''

Grace gives a sigh. ''You and your eternal crusade for justice, one break-neck case after another... The pace you set on us all is beyond all endurance. Concentrating on work and keeping oneself occupied is an acceptable coping mechanism, but you turn it into a form of self-torture, inflicting everybody around you as well. Don't think I can't see the real reason behind it all - that's why I keep offering you a chance to talk to me... ''

As if she'd pulled out the proverbial red rag.

''You should rather use your professional skills and valuable time on profiling our potential perpetrator, instead of psychoanalysing me! If everyone gave their fair share we wouldn't have to worry about getting results at all!''

''Just carry on the way you do and the _result_ you'll get is a stack of resignation notices on your desk!'' Grace snaps back irritatedly.  
She regrets the sharp remark instantly, but it hits the target.

When Boyd continues, there's a lot more simple need for understanding than self-justification in his voice.  
''They called me some ungodly hour Saturday morning, as usual,'' he smirks bitterly, ''so I got here, looked through the materials of the Brandon Ellis case. The whole thing is just... I'm definitely not blaming the original team, they did their work properly, it's the bloody Met's general policy that pisses me off. The murder case of a 5-year-old child should never be declared 'cold' nor land in the archives in the first place, be it 5 or 25 years. Perhaps, if they hadn't called off the active investigation, Jakob Starek could still be alive... Maybe these kids didn't have the brightest of future ahead, no loving families to fight for them - that doesn't mean they're expendable, that they don't deserve justice. And now we're waiting for Marc Carlisle's body to turn out before we finally take some action!? How many more victims!? I just had to do something... had to take the case...''

''You've been here all weekend once again then, nights included?'' Grace shakes her head ruefully. ''Why didn't you call us? You really didn't have to deal with it all alone, we would have come and helped.''

''I did call Eve right away, couldn't manage without her. As for the rest of you – I just accidentally overheard what big plans everybody had for the weekend, so why spoil them unless strictly necessary. Risking to ruin my impeccable slave-driver-boss reputation, of course,'' he adds with due sarcasm. ''And there really wasn't that much to do at such an early stage, Eve dealt with the autopsy and testing and I started with contacting the families. Brandon Ellis' mother overdosed two years ago, no-one's left to inform about reopening the case any more. Anna Starek is still in prison. 'Don't expect me to pay for the bloody funeral!'- that's how she took the news about the tragic fate of her son. I met Rachel Carlisle, the mother of that missing boy too, wanted to tell her that our team takes over the investigation, that we might have some possible new leads... Her reaction wasn't quite what I expected either...''

Grace nods in sympathy, clearly imagining how it might have been. The parents of missing children, the one's he could identify himself with were always Boyd's weak spot. It must have been a harsh experience for him when his whole-hearted intentions to offer support and reassurance encountered the rather indifferent response.

Looking quite desolate, Boyd gives a weary sigh and runs his hand through his hair. All silvery now, no more darker streaks, Grace notices. The lack of sleep is clearly showing on his face, making him look much older. The sudden urge to go and hug him in consolation is almost irresistible. A couple of years ago she would have just done it. Not any more, Boyd having somehow managed to create insurmountable barriers between them. The only thing she can do for him these days is reassuring him that he is not alone in his fight for justice.

''Boyd, we all want to catch their killer just as much as you do. And we will give our best. You have no reason to ever question the dedication of any of your team members. You know that yourself, don't you?

He nods in consent. ''That's the main reason I requested this case. We've succeeded before where all others have given up, we're used to turn over every stone and think outside the box. I know that we have what it takes to finally catch that bastard.''

''Having a noble goal to struggle for is apparently all you need to keep yourself going, but we common mortals still have some mundane needs - a bite to eat and a couple of hours of sleep occasionally to sustain ourselves.'' Grace hopes that little touch of humour to enlighten the atmosphere.

Boyd smirks. A moment later he is on his feet and opens the door to the squad-room. The faces of his colleagues reflect nervous expectation.

''Look... I did over-react before, I know that. I am sorry. We should have talked before deciding on taking the case. And as regards to the lunch-breaks... they are naturally allowed. In fact the next pizza will be on me,'' his initially apologetic face turns mischievous,. ''… as it is claimed to be so beneficial for brain-work according to distinguished experts.''

Grace has followed him to the squad room. ''Oh, don't expect to get away that easy", she challenges him, ''we deserve a much more generous treat from our DSI if we crack this case!''

''Fair enough! No skimping, that's a promise, if you all prove that you're worth it,'' Boyd agrees eagerly. ''I hope everybody is suitably motivated now!'' The notorious grin, so seldom seen these days, is back for a moment.

The mobile in his jacket pocket starts to ring. A quick glance on the display to identify the caller and his expression becomes grim again.

''Private call,'' he mentions curtly and retreats to his office quickly, closing the door in a spectacularly civilised way this time.

''How do you do it, Grace?'' Stella whispers in sincere admiration. ''You walk into the cave of a roaring lion and come out with... a pussy-cat.''

''It's just one of her many talents.'' Spence offers, sly smirk on his face.

''You big flatterer!'', Grace pats his shoulder. ''I'm afraid I've lost this 'talent', though,'' she adds with a rueful smile. '' Today was just a fluke.''

Boyd's door opens once again. He's got his coat on and seems to be in a hurry.

''I'll be back in an hour.'' A moment later he's gone without any further explanation.

His team members exchange confused but relieved looks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**.

Leaving the office when their investigation is in the labor consuming initial stage and everybody's contribution essential makes Boyd uncomfortable. The reason for taking the journey to the other end of the city considerably more so. But it's still better to get it over with right away, so he'll be able to fully concentrate on work later.

There are still remarkable traffic jams at every junction and the red and green lights have their respective turns several times before he can finally move along. Nothing else to do but sit and wait and waste his valuable time.

 _Has it really been 12 years already? He remembers well the rather self-destructive phase of his life that gave ground to all the preposterous rumours still sticking to him persistently. All hope to bring Luke back to normal life seemed to be gone and Mary finally did what she'd been threatening to do for years – packed her things and left. His former family home became an empty and uninviting place overnight. When there was no more reason to linger at work, he used to drop in some pub to cut the lonely and usually sleepless hours shorter. The one with that blonde waitress Kelly was just conveniently on his way home. That happy-go-lucky girl apparently never ended the night in bed alone. And sometimes, lacking better alternatives obviously, she ended up with him. But there never was anything serious between them, Kelly just wanted to have fun and he welcomed the brief moments of oblivion.  
_ _This pub-frequenting period didn't last for long. His crucial role in solving one brutal serial murder case received vast media interest and left the upper echelons of the Met no option but to give him the long due promotion. That provided him with a new focus, he pulled himself together and that particular pub and Kelly Sullivan stopped being his last resort. Kelly, who never had any reason to complain about the deficiency of the attention from the opposite sex didn't seem to be too upset._

 _Some weeks ago he received a very formal letter in which that same Kelly Sullivan claimed him to give a DNA sample to establish the paternity of her 11-year-old daughter. Not a single word from her all those years and now this... He refused to even consider the possibility. It had to be a misunderstanding, a mistake that was easy to clear out so everybody could just forget about it and go on with their life._

 _A week later came the next delivery. He could interpret the contents of this envelope effortlessly, the scientific terms and explanations about the matching markers and probability percentages all too familiar to him. He had no reason to question the results provided by a trustworthy lab and in the light of these results it was only natural that his contribution to the girl's welfare was expected.  
_ _The following meeting with Kelly was brief, businesslike and civilized. No excessive emotions nor accusations from either party, just a constructive discussion of all the legal and financial technicalities. It surprised him how pragmatically and unemotionally he took everything. As if he were arranging things for someone else and all this didn't concern himself as directly and deeply as it actually did.  
_ _The monthly sum Kelly asked was perfectly reasonable, so was her statement that she won't make any restrictions if he wants to participate in the girl's life. So he did what was presumably expected from him and spent some time with her on Saturday.  
_ _He was not sure whether he rather hoped or feared it would make the change. It didn't. Erin Jane was a lovely little girl, but as far as he was concerned, she could have easily been the kid of some friend or a neighbour or even a complete stranger - no instinctive recognition or instant emotional attachment whatsoever. She seemed to feel likewise. With the exception of a few trivial remarks, two and a half hours passed mostly in silence. After watching one not particularly funny comedy in the cinema, eating ice-cream in a café and taking a short stroll in the park he took her back home without having got to know her any better. His suggestion to do something together next week-end received a far from enthusiastic shrug in response._

 _He couldn't have spent the next weekend with her even if he wanted to, having to attend a conference that anyone else in the Met apparently didn't arse to go to. A week later the Thames returned what was left of the victims of a brutal and so far unsolved ritual murder. Then came the end of the month and wrestling with all the bloody expense reports took better part of his weekend. When he got the information about the murdered boy and the possible connection to a cold case this Saturday morning, he felt almost relieved to have another good excuse to avoid facing the uncomfortable new reality._

 _But the proverbial elephant was still in the room. He didn't want his role to be confined to dutiful monthly money transfers only and was well aware that it needed his own initiative to alter that. A couple of years, even less than a year ago it all would have been different, much easier. He just didn't have what it took in him any more. Maybe he'd laid that certain something to rest with Luke._

 _No complaints from Kelly's side so far. Until the recent phone call where she wanted to meet in person and discuss something urgent._

He has no idea what to expect, but gives himself an honest promise to keep his head cold, no matter what Kelly has in store for him.

* * *

''I haven't got much time,'' Boyd warns right away when Kelly opens the door for him, the straight-to-business attitude helping to mask his discomfiture. ''What's the urgent thing that couldn't be discussed on the phone then? Something concerning Erin?'' .

Kelly's reaction is ironic. ''As if I had any other matters to discuss with _you_!''

She hasn't changed much. A bit older and more mature yes, has put on a pound or two probably, but her dressing and make-up style pretty much the same he remembers. A bit too much for him. In harsh daylight at least.

''Where is she herself? At school?''

''There is no school this week. Autumn break - didn't you know?''

Boyd gives a guilty head-shake. He didn't. And he probably should be aware of such things now.

''Erin's with her friend Rosie, she lives right around the corner. Should be back soon, so you'll be able to meet her. I want to talk to you without her around at first.'' Kelly seemingly doesn't want to waste any time either. ''You do have a spare bedroom in your house, don't you?''

''And the reason you're asking this is...?'' he inquires suspiciously.

''I was wondering... could Erin stay with you for a couple of days? I'm planning a short trip to Spain...''

''And when exactly would this trip take place?''

''Leaving on Thursday, back home by Sunday evening. Just a quick recharge of solar batteries. That bloody climate we've got here is really getting me down.''

''Don't tell me you mean this week...'' Boyd's expression is incredulous.

The damned woman just nods innocently and all his composure flies out of the window.  
''You must be fucking joking!''

''I know, I know, it's at a real short notice and all that...,'' Kelly tries to pacify him with poorly feigned regret. ''I just got such a fantastic bargain, half-prize practically and I really don't want to miss the opportunity.'' She gives him a cadging smile. ''Please tell me you'll take her, pretty please? You won't have to fuss with taking her to school this week or anything.''

''Why the hell don't you take her with you if she's having a school holiday? I'll pay for her trip if that's the problem.''

Kelly looks a bit uncomfortable for a moment. ''Look, the thing is that... I'm not going alone,'' she explains. ''It's intended to be a romantic cruise actually. I'm sure you agree that dragging an 11-year-old along doesn't quite attach to that concept.''

''I have to go to work and you know very well what kind of job I have,'' Boyd retorts, ''babysitting doesn't combine with that either.''

''Let me remind you in case you've forgotten,'' Kelly bites back, ''your daughter is 11 years old, not 11 months. Diaper-changing and feeding every three hours is ancient history, she doesn't require any particular baby-sitting these days. And she can manage a couple of hours on her own perfectly fine, if that's what you're worried about.''

''My working day lasts considerably more than 'a couple of hours'.''

''I thought that higher rank gives the privilege of more flexible schedule,'' Kelly raises her eyebrows in surprise.

Boyd snorts. ''In some ideal world, maybe!''

''Can't you just take a day or two off then?''

''Why not! All I have to do is put a big 'CLOSED' sign on my office door,'' he mocks. ''I'm not working in some bloody pub. We just started with a very complicated case, there's no way I can take Erin on my responsibility now. And I won't find anyone trustworthy to keep an eye on her that quickly.''

''That option I recommend you to not even consider,'' Kelly warns him in earnest. ''Your ears just won't survive that scream of protest, trust me. We had so many fierce arguments about it in the first couple of months after my mother's death. In the end I had no choice but to leave her home alone and guess what - I was utterly surprised how sensible and self-dependent she is for her age. My late mother really deserves all the credit for giving her such good upbringing. So rest assured - she's used to being on her own, even seems to like . Unrestricted access to TV and internet and a fridge full of junk food and she'll have the time of her life, won't even notice your absence. After all it's only two days, then there's weekend.''

''And you're absolutely bloody sure I haven't got any plans of my own for that particular weekend?'', he needles, for the sake of defiance mostly.

''Really?!'' Kelly sneers. ''You have social life as well then, I got the impression you lived for work only. I'm afraid you'll have to change these plans for I'm certainly not going to change mine. Why do I have to be the only one making sacrifices and giving up all personal life? I have to mess with her 24/7, it's only fair that you put up with a little bit of inconvenience and give me the well-deserved break. It's not much to ask, considering you haven't done anything for her all those years...''

''And whose fault is that, I wonder!?'', Boyd cuts in heatedly. ''How could I possibly give my share if I didn't have the slightest idea of her existence? It was your own choice to wait 11 years to tell me. Didn't it ever occur to you that I had a bloody right to know such thing!?''

Kelly smirks. ''It was a bit complicated back then, you weren't the only possible candidate, you see...'', she explains rather shamelessly.

''Oh really!? Why on earth am I not surprised!?''

Apparently not bothered by his scathing comment at all, she continues. ''My mother was so thrilled about the idea of getting a grandchild and eagerly volunteered to raise the kid herself. I'm not much of a mommy-material myself, so why not indulge her then... And knowing my mother – she wouldn't have wanted you nor anybody else to jeopardise her monopoly on the girl. There was no reason to muddle things up by involving third parties.''  
''Don't you dare to condemn me, '' she warns sharply, noticing Boyd's fierce expression, '' I did what was best for Erin. She had a happy and stable childhood and my mother had the much-desired grandchild. And I had my life. What would have been the alternative? Me and you playing house together? It wouldn't have lasted a month and then what? This was the best solution for everybody. How was I supposed to know my mother's going to die that soon.''

Boyd grunts angrily. ''Of course not, you expected her to live forever and raise your child for you!''

''At least I didn't expect her to go so suddenly. She never complained anything and then a fatal heart-attack right out of the blue! I was left to deal with everything all alone. That's why I decided to find out who the other guilty party was. You were the easiest one to get in touch with, so I started with you. And guess what – got the lucky winner right away!'' Kelly leans against the table and chuckles. ''You should really consider playing lottery, might win a fortune with that luck of yours.''

Boyd seriously fights an urge to slap that arrogant bitch. ''And what do you expect me to do now?'' he snarls. ''Click the switch,'' he demonstratively snaps his fingers in front of her face, ''and start playing happy families just like that!? Jesus, woman, you have no idea what's my life been like, what I've been through just recently... I can't do it... I need more time... ''

''Excuse me for not feeling sorry for you! You've had plenty of time to get used to the idea. When my mother died, I had to turn my life upside down in 24 hours. I wasn't ready for anything either, in fact I never wanted any of that shit...''

''There's one thing I can't understand,'' he gives an angry head-shake,''why on earth did you have to give birth at all if you never wanted any of that ''shit'', as you so eloquently put it. Modern medicine offers other options, didn't you know?''

''Bloody modern medicine,'' Kelly snorts derisively, ''that got me in trouble in the first place! Those wretched birth control pills that were supposed to give some 99% guarantee... I definitely didn't expect to be that unfortunate 1%, thought it was just false alarm or something... And then it was already too damn late for termination. ''

Boyd's impulsive response is filled with venom. ''What a pity you didn't call me back then, I would have personally made sure you got to the gynaecologist in time!''

They both fall silent, seemingly appalled by the nasty turn their exchange of words took.

The front door is kicked open. Erin walks in, letting it fall shut behind her with a deafening bang.

Colourful scrunchies have given up the unfair fight with the windy weather and her long hair is a mess. Her grim expression matches that wild look quite well. She sends her yellow jacket flying towards the coat rack. It misses the target and lands on the floor.

''That's where it's going to stay, mind my words,'' Kelly warns her sharply. ''I'm not going to pick it up for you - it's not me who has to put it on all dirty and rumpled next time. What's wrong? Did you and Rosie fall out again or what?''

Erin doesn't consider her mother worth answering, just demonstratively tosses her shoes in opposite corners.

''Peter's here, come and say hello!''

Boyd finds it strange that Erin determinedly calls Kelly by the name, not 'Mom', but when he himself is referred to as 'Peter', it sounds suitably neutral. He forces himself to smile.

''Hi, Erin! How you've been doing? How's the school-break?''

The girl casts him a disdainful glance, mutters something incoherent in reply and starts to climb up the stairs.

He doesn't know what else to say or do, discouraged by such unfriendly feedback.

Sensing Boyd's diffidence in the presence of the girl, Kelly decides to take advantage of his momentary confusion.  
''Erin, Peter and I decided that you'll be staying with him while Mike and I are in Spain,'' she announces unexpectedly.

''Whatever!'' Then the door upstairs is slammed shut.

''What the hell was that supposed to be now? We haven't decided anything!'', Boyd hisses to Kelly, shocked by her caddish move. ''All this time I've been trying to explain you why I can't take her... ''

''Do you really want me to go and tell her that you don't want her?'', Kelly confronts him.

''I've never said I don't _want_ her, stop twisting my words! You saw her reaction - she herself clearly hates the idea. No wonder, considering she hardly knows me.''

''Then you should welcome the excellent opportunity to get to know each other better, right?'' Kelly points out triumphantly.

Boyd can't fight such argument. He gives a desperate sigh. ''Jesus... like a bloody extortion.''

''How's it going to be then? Do we have an agreement or not?'', Kelly pushes on, the presentiment of victory transparent in her voice.

''As if I ever had any choice.''  
He is sick and tired of fighting. There's no point trying to reason with someone like Kelly Sullivan. Maybe Erin really is as sensible and self-dependent as she claims her to be. Her recent behaviour didn't leave such impression, so he just has to take Kelly's word for it. They will survive these couple of days under the same roof. Hopefully.

''I want you to come and pick her up on Wednesday evening already, I have to leave very early next morning.'' Kelly feels secure enough to set her terms already.

Boyd's phone starts ringing. He answers the call.  
''Yes Spence... of course I want to talk to him myself... I try to come as soon as I can...''

''Sounds like you're urgently needed. Don't let me keep you,'' Kelly allows herself to be generous, having achieved her goals. ''Just don't forget to call me before coming here on Wednesday, then I can pack Erin's things together in time.''

* * *

Boyd gets in the car and fastens the seatbelt. It has started to rain heavily, so he turns on the sweepers. The argument with Kelly has worn him out and he needs a moment to gather himself. How on earth did she manage to rile him up to a point of turning so low!? Thank God the girl was out and didn't hear it. That feeling of shame and self-condemn is very familiar. Post crisis depression... The only outcome of that ridiculous therapy years ago was providing him with a posh term to describe that certain crappy feeling.

His phone rings again. It's Eve this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Boyd grunts impatiently when the automatic door to the lab does not slide open fast enough for his liking. Without slowing down his pace, he grabs a white lab coat from the hanger and pulls it on, not bothering to button it up properly. He knows that the others have been waiting for him, undoubtedly entertaining themselves with trying to guess the reason for his unexpected leave. He doesn't want to give anybody, Grace in particular, the chance to ask questions.

''So, we've got a new murder suspect then?'' The impreciseness is deliberate, he knows Eve's usual reaction to such bold assumptions.

''We've got the DNA-profile of one more person who was in close contact with the victim, but whose direct involvement in the crime is still unclear,'' Eve corrects him sternly.  
After such introduction nobody will bring up anything not case-related.

''The hair I found around Jakob Starek's fingers belongs to a female,'' Eve continues. ''I checked every available database for possible match, without any luck unfortunately. But there is one very significant issue still – this female is closely related to the male whose DNA we already had.''

''Really?'' Boyd's face reflects interest. ''How closely? Siblings?''

''Father and daughter. The male is definitely the biological parent of the female. And they both had to be in close contact with Jakob Starek.''

''Could it be that the 'daughter' was involved in Brandon Ellis' case already and there was some evidence as well, but as the DNA profiles were so alike because they're closely related nobody realised there were actually two different people?'', Stella makes a very naïve suggestion.

''I sincerely hope my predecessors didn't have problems with distinguishing the genetic material of males and females,'' Eve smirks, ''but now that I know what to look for I will of course recheck everything we've got in the archives on Brandon Ellis. I wouldn't hope much, but you'll never know... If that hypothetical evidence was in the form of hair, there's actually a good possibility it was just mistaken for the boy's own hair and left untested. The hair structure, colour, length - all is very similar. Even I could have missed it, unless the hair wasn't twined around the victim's fingers in this case.''

''Sign of possible self-defence?'' Spence suggests.

''Could be. Enough hair roots to provide us with the DNA, so it had to be pulled out with some strength.''

''So who's the real killer then? Maybe the 'daughter' commits the murders and the 'father' just does the cleaning up? Considering the amount of blows the victims received and sticking to the theory that the killer acted in a state of uncontrollable rage, shouldn't the damage to the victims' skulls be far worse if the killer was a grown man?'', Spence offers.

''You know well that these things ain't that straightforward,'' Eve refuses to go along with the speculations. ''There are lots of things to consider. The murder weapon first of all – we don't know what was used yet, the positions of the victim and the killer, the physical condition of the person in question... According to the evidence we've got so far the 'father' was definitely involved in getting rid of the bodies. At the moment we can't say for sure how taking care of the victims before their death was arranged and who's responsible for committing the murders. Whether it was the 'father' or the 'daughter' or some form of perverted teamwork – it's all speculative right now.''

''A field day for you, Grace, trying to profile this little murderous family, isn't it?'' Boyd grins ironically.

''I'm looking forward to everybody's eager contribution in providing me with potential suspects so I can compare their the DNA with evidence I've got,'' Eve announces with a smirk.

''I can indulge you pretty soon,'' Spence promises her. ''Henry Hayworth, the former owner of the house is coming over for an interview. He'll be here in an hour.''

* * *

The chubby and bald middle-aged man sitting across the table looks anything but a potential child-killer. Boyd's gut feeling tells him Henry Hayworth can't be their man, but years of doing his job have taught him that even the nicest looking people could be capable of most hideous things. And this man is too jumpy, suspiciously so. At first he acted as if being on an entertainment tour, clearly thrilled about his 'first time in life police experience' as he repeatedly pointed out, supplementing it with some lame jokes only he himself giggled at. Learning the reason he was contacted and summoned here has reduced his merriment conspicuously and now he looks nervous and uneasy. The way he keeps fiddling with his gold-framed glasses really starts to get on the nerves.

Boyd runs his eyes over the sheet of paper Spence has just brought him.  
The confirmed dates of the arrivals and departures of the Hayworth family.

''So you've spent better part of past 4 years in Australia, as I can see. And your London house just stayed empty all this time, you didn't rent it out to anybody? A bit of a waste in my opinion.''

''There never was any intention to stay in Australia for good,'' Henry Hayworth eagerly explains. ''At first it was just meant to be a one-year adventure. But I was made an offer to extend the contract and the salary was really very good, so why not... And by then Rebecca, our daughter, had just the final year left in high-school. To change continents and countries and schools right before the important exams – we really couldn't do that to her, so we stayed for a bit longer. But we spent some time in London every year - Christmases, summer vacations, a week when my nephew got married, we came back for the funeral of my father in law most naturally... It was always good to know that our old home was waiting for us whenever we wanted to return.

''And yet you sold the house right away when you finally moved back,'' Boyd remarks, watching the man closely.

''Rebecca was head over heels in love with her high-school boyfriend. The young folks didn't waste any time, decided to get married straight after graduation. Of course I would have wanted her to wait a bit, get a college degree first... but who can stand in the way of true love,'' he attempts to jest. ''Our in-laws have a big sheep farm. I never would have thought that a city-girl like our Becky could fancy country life, but she seems to be truly happy there. And that's all that counts, right? It wasn't an easy decision to come back here with our only daughter starting her new life that far from us, believe me, but me and Edna, my wife, we were just so homesick for England ... And the house really was far two big for just the two of us, so yes started looking for a smaller one right away and found a suitable one pretty quickly.''

Eve arrives to collect the DNA sample.  
Henry Hayworth regards her preparations for taking the mouth swab from him with evident concern.

''We need a DNA sample from your daughter as well,'' Boyd states. ''Give us her address and the local police will deal with everything.''

That causes a surprisingly startled reaction. ''Couldn't we please leave her out of this...''

''Any particular reason we should we do that?'', Boyd inquires sharply.

''She is due to give birth to our first grandchild in next couple of weeks. I really don't think it's a good idea to upset her with things like that at the moment.''

''Your DNA sample is all we need right now,'' Grace intervenes, tossing Boyd a reproachful glance. ''Don't worry, we won't bother your daughter if there isn't any reason to do that,'' she promises reassuringly.

The procedure of giving the swab test clearly makes Hayworth uncomfortable. He swallows convulsively several times and asks for a glass of water.  
Having taken a few sips, he turns to Boyd. ''Look, according to what I've read and seen on TV... isn't it logical that traces of my DNA can be found all around the house I used to live in?''

''True. But hardly on the murder victims unless you were in close contact with them,'' Boyd remarks dryly.

Mr. Hayworth looks quite shaken.

* * *

That bloody continuous rain is still pouring down. All Boyd wants to do is lay down and get some sleep. Not going to happen.

His grim premonition turns out to be true – the ceiling of his guest bedroom is dripping, considerable pools on the floor already. The problem with the roof is agent-old, but as it takes exceptionally heavy rain for the leak to manifest, he tends to forget about it and postpone dealing with it constantly.  
A couple of buckets prevent any further damage but it's quite clear that he can't put the girl in that room now, especially considering the gloomy forecast for the rest of the week.

That leaves him no other option but to use the other unoccupied bedroom in his house, the door of which he keeps locked from any possible nosy visitors. His job has taken him to quite a few similar rooms, kept untouched for decades by the families still waiting for their loved ones to return home. But he has never admitted to anyone the existence of such room in his own house. Not even to Grace, though he suspects she's deduced it long ago, despite never openly mentioning it.

He turns the key in the lock and switches the light on. Time seems to have stopped in here, leaving a deceptive impression that the boy who's room it used to be is about to return any minute. And now it all has to change.

Boyd takes a short trip to the garage and returns, equipped with some cardboard boxes. The task ahead of him is not easy.

He starts with the closet. Living in the streets already, Luke still used to pay secret visits home to make some necessary seasonal corrections in his wardrobe, never forgetting to empty the flower-patterned box on the kitchen shelf, where Mary used to keep the household money, as well. There's nothing much left in the closet, just some faded and threadbare jeans and T-shirts. But the colourful football boots are brand new. A birthday present Luke never got to wear. He bought them for him, not knowing that the boy was already kicked out of the team for smoking grass and playing hooky from football practice.

Every item in this room brings back memories. Birthdays, Christmases, weekends spent together, good old times... Boyd realises that if he keeps on lingering like that he'll spend the whole night here without getting anything done. He has to steel his heart and clean up the room.

The inescapable necessity for action curbs the bitter-sweet nostalgia, but leads to frustration and anger. He hates the bloody weather and the damned leaking roof, blames himself for not dealing with the problem when he first discovered it. He's mad at Kelly for foisting the girl on him, knowing very well he's anything but prepared for that. For some inexplicable reason he is even angry at the girl, despite understanding it to be stupid and unfair. He unconsciously channels all that futile rage into fast and aggressive movements, rips down the posters of long-forgotten pop-stars and football heroes, grabs things from the shelves and empties the drawers, stuffing everything carelessly into the boxes. He should have done this long ago. Even if Luke had ever returned home, what would a grown man have done with all that teenage boy's rubbish. Most of this stuff should go to a garbage bin right away.

Not tonight. He's not capable of taking that step yet. He carries the boxes to the ladder and hoists them all to the loft.

Sweaty and panting heavily after the exertion he returns to the room. It looks empty, anonymous. Just another spare bedroom, only the places where the posters hung showing out a bit against the otherwise faded wallpaper. But nothing reminds the former occupant any more. The rain has stopped for a moment, so he opens the window, hoping to cool himself a bit and to get rid of the slightly stale smell in the room. Fresh air in and old ghosts out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Boyd makes no attempt to hide his bad mood. His back is killing him - the inevitable result of last night's box-lifting, the fistful of painkillers he gulped down with his morning coffee having no effect whatsoever. First thing he heard when he got to work was Eve's report that Henry Hayworth's DNA doesn't match nor do the periods the family spent in London collide with the approximate time of the victims' deaths. So back to square one again. The fact that Grace took Henry Hayworth's phone call and arranged to meet him and his wife at their home definitely didn't improve things.

The car wheels seem to find all the uneven patches of the road and Boyd's spine instantly registers the impact, making him grimace with pain.  
''I still think that bloody Hayworth is just fooling us,'' he snarls. ''Why the hell didn't he tell us all that yesterday? We have to waste our time because he claims such an important fact just slipped his mind! I don't buy such crap! I'd definitely remember giving the keys of my house to somebody, be it 5 or 15 years later. How could anyone possibly forget something like that?''

''Well, what did you expect, considering the way you treated him yesterday?'', Grace is rhetorical.

''Oh, I see, everything is my fault as always...''

''Isn't it then? First you throw into his face the distressing fact that something hideous has happened in the back yard of his former family home, then threaten to send the local authorities to harass his 9-months-pregnant daughter, treat him with open hostility, almost charge him for murder in the end...'', she counts.

''I didn't charge him for anything!'', Boyd protests loudly.

''Just as good as, making his every word sound suspicious and incriminating. No wonder the poor man was so all over the place he couldn't think clearly any more. There's the result of excessive pressure in the interview room for you - besides being unethical it leaves you with much less cooperation and information than you could have achieved with more subtle approach. I've warned you about it before, haven't I?''

''Repeatedly,'' Boyd agrees, smirking.

''Obviously you don't pay much attention to what I say. That's the main reason I wanted to talk to the Hayworths at there home. They feel more at ease in familiar surroundings. They are no longer suspects, but might still have some valuable information that could help us on with the case. Please take that into consideration and treat them accordingly.''

''OK, I'll try to follow all the guide-lines of the sensitive policing memo then,'' Boyd promises, grinning.

* * *

Sitting in the Hayworths' cosy living room half an hour later Boyd seems to have forgotten all about his promise. He lifts his voice, completely ignoring Grace's disapproving expression and declares slightingly: ''Come on people, are you really trying to convince me that you trust someone with the keys to your house while being in the other end of the world yourself and merely a couple of years later you've suddenly lost all contact with that person, can't even tell us his current phone number... I personally find it very odd!''

Annoyed by the contemptuous assessment, Henry Hayworth hastily explains: ''Look, we actually new his late wife Marcy better, she was Edna's distant relative. With us being away in Australia and Nigel tending to keep to himself after Marcy's death – we've just grown apart somehow. And he had the keys for a couple of months only. He never lived in the house, just drove by and stepped in once in a while to check if everything was OK. It was his own initiative to give the keys back - he didn't want any extra obligations and responsibilities, being the sole carer of his mentally disabled daughter.''

''As I have understood you never changed the locks nor alarm codes, did you?'', Boyd remarks sternly. ''If that distant relative's widower just accidentally made copies of the keys for himself, he could have easily accessed the house whenever he liked, being fully aware that you weren't returning any time soon.''

''Why on earth would he do anything like that? Please don't tell me you think he has something to do with the death of that poor child... I only suggested that you should talk to him because I thought he might have noticed something that could be useful to you and you want to start harassing him with preposterous accusations instead! Nigel of all people! The poor man has enough worries in his life. I'm really starting to think it would have been better to keep my mouth shut about him.'' Henry Hayworth shakes his head, seemingly upset.

''And I am starting to think how much more there is you have considered better to keep your mouth shut about,'' Boyd bites back.

Grace doesn't like the unconcealed antipathy between the two men. Some alternation of course is quickly needed.  
''The daughter of the Brown's has a mental disability...?'', she turns to Edna Hayworth, who has just appeared from kitchen with a tray and is pouring steaming coffee in the cups.

''Oh, it's such an unfortunate story,'' Edna Hayworth starts, seemingly pleased by a chance to join the conversation. ''I just can't understand why and how things like that happen, with absolutely no history of even the slightest mental problems in either side of the family... When Angelica– that's the girl's name – was born no-one could suspect anything bad at first – some babies just tend to be more restless than others and cry for no reason. But when she became a toddler, it was already clear that this girl just lives in some world of her own. I don't remember her exact diagnosis, but the prognosis was utterly discouraging – not much hope for any improvement, no chance for normal life ever. The fact that this child learned to talk at all really was the crown of her parents efforts. Marcy and Nigel never gave up on her, took her to countless therapists and doctors, even to that famous Dr. Norton, who wrote all these books about children's mental health problems.''

''Ann Norton definitely is one of the best specialists in that field,'' Grace nods in agreement. ''I had the luck to work with her years ago.''

''And Nigel was just wonderful with Angelica, he really had a way with that little problem girl of his. Men usually tend to hit the road when something like that happens in the family, but Marcy was really blessed with a husband like him. They had such a strong marriage, I'm sure they would have coped with everything if only there wasn't that awful accident with little Sean...'', Edna Hayworth sighs regretfully.

''There was another child as well?'' Grace wonders.

Edna Hayworth nods. ''A little boy, yes, four years Angelica's junior, perfectly healthy and normal. And then such a terrible tragedy...''

''What happened to the boy?'', Boyd interferes, sounding interested as well.

''He stumbled and fell down the stairs, hurt his head so bad nothing could be done - died instantly. It was about 6 years ago, so he would be a schoolboy by now...'', she waggles her head sorrowfully, ''They celebrated his 5th birthday just a week before, not knowing it remained his last... What a lovely little fellow he was - blonde curls and blue eyes, always smiling and frisky...''

Boyd and Grace exchange glances.

''And poor Marcy saw it all happen,'' Edna Hayworth continues her sad recollection. ''She tried so hard to be brave and carry on for Angie's and Nike's sake, but I guess all the grief and pain was just too much. But it was still a shock that she did something that extreme...''

''Suicide?'' Grace suggests.

Mrs. Hayworth nods sadly. ''I really can't imagine how Nigel survived all that. But he did, dedicated himself completely to Angelica, stayed home with her - taking care of Angie is a full-time job. We really have no right to blame Nigel for being unsociable after all he's been through, but I would really like to visit them to see how they're doing now.''

''At least he doesn't have to worry about money too much,'' Henry Hayworth joins in. ''He's a soft-ware programmer, has some real knack for all that IT stuff. Back in the day when men with his competence were rare he managed to make quite a little fortune – that certainly comes handy now. He knows everything about computers, I remember him boasting once how he could get access to whatever database, knowing all the weak points in the system. I've always envied guys like him, being completely ignorant in that field myself. I'm lucky to turn my laptop on and off without messing something up,'' he jets.

''You don't happen to have any photos of the family, do you? '', Boyd interrupts him impatiently.

Mr. Hayworth sounds hesitant. ''No, I don't think so...'' Then his face enlightens. ''What about your Christmas card collection, Edna! Nigel always used to design their holiday cards himself and I kind of remember that he used a photo of them all once...''

* * *

Boyd and Spence stand in the gloomy squad room of the CCU, regarding the newest addition to their evidence board. A card to rise proper Christmas spirit - decorated tree and a nice family under it, little girl leaning against daddy's shoulder, little boy on mommy's lap. The family Brown 7 years ago.

Boyd looks over his shoulder. ''How far are you, Stella? Have you found something interesting?''

Stella keeps leafing the file on her desk. ''... the mother, Marcy Elizabeth Brown, claims to have eye-witnessed her son's fall... the father Nigel Philip Brown was out in the garden with the elder child, but reacted instantly when his wife screamed for help... he called the ambulance, but all attempts to resuscitate the boy failed... domestic violence and possible child abuse completely ruled out in the course of further investigation... case closed, the death of Sean Christopher Brown confirmed to be an accident. Nothing suspicious,'' she concludes.

''OK. Eve promised to have a critical look on the autopsy report, I can't wait to hear what she thinks of it all. And where the hell is Grace, I wonder!?'' Boyd glimpses his watch impatiently. ''The psychiatrist who treated the elder child happens to be her old friend. I sent her to hunt for some more background information about the family. How long could that possibly take?!''

Eve comes and her triumphant expression leaves no doubt that she's on to something.

''Sean Brown's head injuries are not typical to falling accidents,'' she declares. ''Such injuries are usually caused by...''

''Let me guess – battering the head with some blunt object,'' Boyd offers.

Eve nods. ''I contacted the pathologist who examined the body. He didn't remember much 6 years later, but according to him the autopsy had been just a formality. Everybody just wished to spare the poor devastated family from further suffering and tried to close the case as quickly as possible to let them grieve in peace. Since the mother claimed to have seen the boy fall they just confirmed her version.''

''And in a couple of months time she just conveniently kills herself, so no further questions can be asked,'' Boyd remarks sceptically. ''And the father turns into a recluse.''

Grace arrives, looking a bit shamefaced. ''You know how it is, when you meet an old friend you haven't seen for ages,'' she explains apologetically. ''I'm afraid we just forgot ourselves a bit.''

''I only hope you didn't forget to ask about the Brown girl,'' Boyd smirks.

''Of course I didn't,'' Grace retorts indignantly. ''And she remembers Angelica Brown very well. But I'm warning you right away - all this information is strictly off the record for now, I gave Ann Norton my word that there won't be any problems with the patient confidentiality requirements. Let's just say that two former colleagues met in a café and ended up discussing an outstandingly interesting case history.''

Boyd snorts. ''That's the way it goes in the inner circles of shrinks then – you pour your heart and soul out in front of them and risk ending up as 'an outstandingly interesting case history', main topic over coffee and cake. I've always suspected that.''

''You reproach me for not playing by the book?! Of all people you are hardly the one entitled to throw the first stone!'' Grace needles him. ''Do you want to hear what I learned about the girl or not?''

Boyd lifts his palms. ''Guilty as charged. Please enlighten us then.''

The following fireworks of professional terminology makes Boyd groan. ''Please, Grace... have mercy on us poor ignorant coppers - too much Latin for one day.'' He earns an amused chuckle from Spence and Stella and a very reproachful look from Grace. ''We did get the point already – all the wires in the poor girl's head are tangled up. What about the parents? Did Dr. Norton remember them, father in particular?''

''Very loving and caring.''

Boyd looks discontented. ''Nothing new - the Hayworths claimed the Browns to be proper candidates for the parents of the year as well.''

''But that comes from a professional psychiatrist not some distant relative or former friend. The only problem Ann Norton mentioned was the disagreement about using medications, tranquillizers in particular. Angelica's parents preferred the methods of alternative medicine. That's why they eventually stopped seeing Ann Norton and turned to other specialists. That doesn't make them bad parents, they just wanted the best for their child and had every right to ask for second opinion.''

Boyd gets up from his chair and starts pacing in front of the evidence board.  
''I don't believe in such coincidences. All the abducted boys clearly resemble Sean Brown, plus the same age. There has to be a connection with this post-card family.'' He crosses his arms, contemplating the photo with a frown.  
''How old was Angelica Brown during the time of her brother's death?'' he suddenly asks.

''9 years,'' Stella answers helpfully.

''Could a 9-year-old cause fatal injuries to a 5-year-old?'' He doesn't seem to be comfortable with the idea himself.

''It's not entirely impossible, of course...'' Eve starts.

''The 9-year-old in question could,'' Grace intervenes. ''That terminology you all found so boring describes the tendency to unpredictable and violent behaviour.''

Encouraged by that, Boys develops his theory further. ''So maybe that's what happened – the Browns are staunch supporters of alternative medicine, so they don't give their daughter the prescribed tranquillizers and one day the girl just throws a fit and batters her baby brother to death. And the parents stage the staircase accident to cover it all up... That actually makes sense. Marcy Brown can't live with the dark secret and commits suicide a couple of months later. Also believable. But what the hell happens next? According to Henry Hayworth it would be a piece of cake for Nigel Brown to get access to the Social Services database, so he starts picking out suitable new punch-bags for his twisted girl...?

''I don't think they're meant to be punch-bags,'' Grace argues, ''It's rather some sort of attempt to recreate the family he had ...''

''Look, I think I know what he's trying to do,'' Stella intervenes unexpectedly, having been quiet most of the time. ''Let me tell you...When I was a little girl, I had a pet, a bunny rabbit Mimi, it had fluffy white hair and red eyes. And one morning I went to feed it and it was lying on the cage floor and just wouldn't wake up. And I thought it had died and started to cry but my mother comforted me that Mimi was just hibernating...''

Boyd interrupts her impatiently: ''We're all very sorry for your loss, dear Stella, you should talk to Grace about it some time, I'm sure she knows how to help you overcome your major childhood tragedy. But we really have to carry on with our investigation now.''

Spence tries his best not to burst out laughing.

Stella's voice is indignant.''I haven't even got to the point yet! Just let me finish, OK!''

''Carry on, Stella, ignore those two,'' Grace encourages her, giving the male colleagues a reproachful look.

''And when I came back from school in the afternoon, Mimi was hopping around in the cage again, munching lettuce and mother told me that the vet had given Mimi a pill that woke it up. Years later she confessed me that Mimi had really died and she just went to the pet shop and bought another white red-eyed bunny who looked exactly the same, so I won't be sad. I think that's what Nigel Brown is doing for Angelica – he tries to replace her baby brother with another boy who looks like him to spare Angelica from the truth.''

''That's a very plausible explanation, Stella,'' Grace says appreciatively.

Boyd remains dubious. ''Children are not rabbits, they don't look that much alike. Is the girl really dumb enough not to tell the difference?''

''Angelica is totally dependent on her father, if he tells her that the boy he's brought home is her brother, she unconditionally believes him,'' Grace explains. ''And the boys have grown up in very meagre conditions, so they can be easily turned cooperative with treats and toys. I'm sure that Nigel Brown really takes good care of them, offers them the love and affection he can't give to his own son any more. He probably sees it as some absolution from his guilt in Sean's death. But sooner or later things get out of hand and every new loss bitterly reminds him his failure to protect his own little son. His tears and grief are genuine, for him it feels like losing Sean all over again. But it won't change his compulsion to find another boy quickly, so Angelica won't ever fathom the consequences of her actions. There's no way out of the wicked circle any more, all he can do is keep watch 24/7 and try to avoid any accident.''

''Mark Carlisle went missing 10 months ago. Maybe he is still alive,'' Stella suggests.

''He might be,'' Grace agrees. ''Brandon Ellis died within a couple of weeks after abduction. Jakob Starek stayed alive much longer. That indicates Nigel Brown has learnt to anticipate and avoid potentially dangerous situations. But he's all alone and another tragedy could be just a matter of time.''

''A ticking time bomb.'' Spence mentions gloomily, shaking his head.

''We'd better start looking for the man right away then,'' Boyd declares decisively. ''How hard could it possibly be to track down a middle-aged father of a disabled child.''


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5.**

Boyd sips his coffee and forces himself to eat a ham sandwich, without really feeling the appetite for it. Far too early in the morning for hearty breakfast and far too many distracting things on his mind. He really fears the starting day to turn out as nerve-wrecking as the previous one.

 _They painstakingly followed every possible lead, checked even the remotest hints, talked to many people who all claimed to have met and known Nigel Brown at some point. As a rule none of them forgot to emphasize what a paragon of parental love he was. That living saint obviously had some very solid reason to avoid any unexpected knock on his door and had messed with several important databases to hide his tracks. The day ended with zero progress and everybody's nerves on the edge. It was only a matter of time him and Spence would clash, the younger man stubbornly claiming some hocus-pocus of his IT-department cronies to be the highway to catching Nigel Brown. Only so far they seemed to be pretty inefficient in entangling the cobweb of false names and addresses surrounding their prime suspect and caused several time and energy consuming false alarms._

It's going to be a tough day, undoubtedly. And long - a much bigger cause for concern. The idea of leaving the girl all by herself without knowing whether he'll get any chance at all to come and check on her feels totally unacceptable.

Looking out of the kitchen window, Boyd sees a possible solution to his problem. Across the street Margaret Morris has just opened her door to collect the morning paper from her mailbox. Arriving home with Erin last night he saw the curtain of her living-room window move - the nosy spinster carrying out her habitual self-imposed neighbourhood watch role. She had to see him with the girl and is certainly seething with curiosity now. Why not go and indulge her and ask to keep an eye on Erin in return.

He has to get the girl to agree with the plan as well and that could be tricky. Their last night's communication was confined to Erin's reluctant one-syllable answers to his questions. It was very late when he finally had time to go and pick her up, definitely past her bedtime, the issue Kelly of course didn't forget to point out bitterly. And now he has to go and wake her up far too early. It can't be helped, he really needs to talk to her right away if he wants to get to work before the traffic turns completely mad. He washes the now empty coffee cup and heads upstairs.

Slightly opening the bedroom door, he accosts her cautiously.  
''Erin? Do you hear me? Are you awake? I need to talk to you, I have to go to work soon...''

The answer that comes from deep under the blanket is reluctant and sulky. ''So what!? _I_ don't have to go _anywhere_!''

''I'm going to have a very busy day and I really hate the idea of leaving you all on your own. I was thinking... there's a nice elderly lady living right across the street - Mrs. Morris... '' He can't finish.

Erin sits up abruptly, her protest instant and earsplitting. ''No! No! No! I don't want anybody to watch over me! I'm not a baby! I _want_ to be on my own!''

''She won't be staying here all day long,'' Boyd attempts to persuade her, ''just pops in once in a while to see how you're doing.''

''No! Forget it! If any old hag shows up here then I... then I... I just walk out the door and I won't come back! Ever! I mean it!''

She has no idea how seriously her threat is taken, moreover the grim reason for that.  
Completely shocked by her reaction, Boyd gives up his plan altogether, just tries to do all he can to calm her down.  
''Easy now... It was just an offer, OK, and if you really prefer being all alone then... I know you're a big girl and can take care of yourself. I'm only glad for that. But you have to promise me to stay here, do you hear me? No venturing alone in the part of town unfamiliar to you! Promise me not to go out alone!''

''For what? To get drowned?'' She casts a grim look towards the rain-soaked window.

''Yes, it looks like indoor activities are much better choice for today,'' Boyd agrees with relief. ''You can watch TV and listen to music, just don't turn it too loud... And you've got the magazines we bought you last night... There's all kinds of good stuff in the fridge if you get hungry. Sure you can handle the microwave?''

Erin rolls her eyes demonstratively.

''I'll wrote my mobile number down for you, call me right away if there's any problem or if you want something...''

'' _All_ I want is to get some _sleep_!'', Erin complains with due dramatics and ducks her head under the pillow.

Boyd smirks. ''OK, dormouse, sweet dreams then! I hope you'll be in better mood when you finally wake up. I'll call you from work.''  
As far as he is concerned she could sleep all day long if she wanted. While she's safely in bed he doesn't have to worry.''

* * *

Boyd nervously dials his home number once again. The damned girl just won't answer the phone. She can't be still sleeping... It is possible, of course, that she just deliberately ignores his calls after their early morning conflict. If only he had taken Kelly's warning more seriously and not provoked her like that. He can't take any risks, he has to go and check on her.

On his way out he runs into Spence who seems to be really excited about something.

''Another possible address!'', Spence declares triumphantly. ''I told you it pays off to follow all the accounts! Last week a payment to a maintenance firm was made from one that's owned by Mr. John Smith, but we have every reason to believe actually belongs to Brown. The secretary of the firm confirmed that some emergency plumbing was done and the house was definitely inhabited. I've got the names and contacts of the two plumbers who did the job. They're installing baths in a new apartment building not far from here, I think it saves us time to go and talk to them right away instead of summoning them here.''

''What's keeping you then? Go find out what they have to say, show them the picture of Nigel Brown ...'' Boyd orders impatiently.

''I just thought that you wanted to come yourself...''

Preoccupied with his personal problems, Boyd's reaction is gruff. ''For God's sake, Spence, did they let you out of Hendon this very morning? Take Stella with you if you need someone to hold your hand while asking the bloody plumbers a few questions.''

He rushes out, leaving Spence to shake his head and mutter a disgruntled: ''Bloody typical! So much for keeping him up to date with every possible new development...''

* * *

The front door is properly locked. No sign of the girl anywhere.

''Erin!'' No answer.

Boyd calls her again. Silence.

He's about to storm upstairs, but then he sees her - lying prone on the sofa, munching an apple and leafing some magazine.

''Why don't you answer the phone?!'' he demands angrily.

Erin seems to be completely unaware of his presence.

He repeats his question in much louder voice, adding an irritated ''I'm talking to you!''

That makes the girl lift her head. She frowns and pulls the earbud out of one ear. ''What? You said something? What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had a busy day at work...''

Boyd turns his eyes skyward in frustration. He must have guessed – bloody earbuds and that damned music, loud enough to cause brain-damage.

''I've been trying to call you all morning.''

''I didn't hear anything, I was listening to music,'' she shrugs, sounding righteously piqued having to explain something so self-evident.

He forces himself calm. ''You shouldn't keep these things in your ears all day long, you ruin your hearing like that.''

''You warned me yourself not to freak out the neighbourhood with my music. And I like _loud_ music!''

''And I had to drop everything and drive across the city to check whether you're all right.''

''Not my fault! I didn't ask you to - I don't need to be checked on every 5 minutes! Don't treat me like a baby!''  
No chance for any complaisance.

Boyd feels exasperated by his inability to cope with her petulance.  
''Why do you have to be like that?'', he complains. ''Is it so hard to exchange a couple of words with me without showing your attitude constantly? I was really worried, thought something might have happened to you...''

''Like what? Died of boredom?'', she retorts defiantly.

He gives a deep sigh, feeling sorry for the girl suddenly. It's not Erin's fault her mother prefers having fun in the sun with her newest boyfriend to spending time with her daughter and she ends up all alone in a strange house – hardly a dream school holiday. No wonder she takes it all out on him. He has no right to be angry with her.  
''Of course you're bored, I know that. There's just nothing we can do about it right now. I can't stay away from work as much as I'd like to and you are so strictly against having someone else to keep you company. We'll just have to get by these two working days somehow, and I try to organise you some entertainment for the week-end.''

''Promises-promises.''

He glimpses his wrist watch . ''Now that I'm already here, maybe I can pinch another half an hour - lets go and have proper lunch somewhere...''  
Before he can finish the sentence his mobile starts ringing demandingly.

''Yes, Spence... ?''

''Where are you, sir? We're really on to something finally! The plumbers recognized Nigel Brown as the man who hired them. They know him as Mr. Smith of course. They gave me a good description of the house. Sounds like a bloody fortress, security cameras, high fences, things like that. The reason the plumbers were called was blocked sewage. They took three toy cars out of the pipe. One of the men briefly saw a strangely behaving girl and heard her giggle and tell the man fitting Brown's description that she and 'Sean' had flushed the cars down the toilet. It means that Marc Carlisle could be still alive and kept somewhere in the house.''

''OK. Organise back-up quickly, but don't make any moves before I get there. We can't afford any miscalculations. Warn everybody that we're dealing with a mentally unstable teenage girl and a 5-year-old whose condition is unknown. Better to have paramedics on standby as well. I'm on my way already.''

Boyd wants to explain Erin his urgent need to leave, but she has turned her back to him, the earbuds are back and she ignores him with cold determination.

* * *

After successful operations like this one nobody complains about working overtime.

Grace comes to inform Boyd about the outcome of the mission he sent her on and discovers a queue behind his office door – Eve apparently waiting to discuss something urgent, Stella with some papers that need Boyd's signature.

''One of these 'private' calls again,'' Eve smirks at her questioning expression. ''He seems to have quite a lot of them recently. Makes me wonder whether that certain American lady might be back in the picture... '' She stops, giving Grace a guilty look for some reason.  
Luckily Boyd opens the door, ending the awkward moment.

He hardly looks at Stella's documents before signing them with energetic pen strokes. Having shared a few words with Eve and sent her back to the lab he turns to Grace eventually.  
''Could you talk to Rachel Carlisle?''

''Yes. And she isn't that reckless and indifferent at all, deep down she loves little Marc very much. She is just too young and lacks the skills to be a parent. Her own mother wasn't a good role model either. So far everybody just pointed out all her mistakes and shortages, without offering any actual help, that's why she felt like giving up. I'm sure that if she gets proper support and adequate counselling now, things will work out fine for her and Marc.''

''I really hope you're right,'' Boyd gives a deep sigh. ''A loving mother is what this poor confused boy needs more than anything else right now.''

Spence pops his head in and announces: ''Nigel Brown's in room 2, as you ordered. He's pretty steamed up, turned down all offers to have a lawyer present during the interview, just keeps loudly demanding to see Angelica.''

Boyd grabs a file from his desk. ''You're ready, Grace?''

She shakes her head disapprovingly. ''It's not a good idea to interview him tonight. I'd rather give him some time to calm down. He may refuse legal help today and start blaming that his rights were violated tomorrow. You don't need his confession that urgently. He was caught red-handed with Marc Carlisle in his house, we can prove his connection with the two murders - there's enough evidence to convict him already. You don't have to serve the case to the CPS on golden plate, let them do their job as well.''

Boyd is uncompromising. ''I specifically want to talk to him right now, before some sleazy overpaid lawyer gives him good advice to play the card of mental breakdown caused by his tragic family life. I looked the man in the eye when we arrested him, he is perfectly answerable in court. He knows damned well what he was up to all those years. And I want him to say it all loud and clear.''

''He's not going to deny anything. But if you expect some kind of repentance from him, I can tell you in advance it's not going to happen. He's lived with his conscience long enough to invent firm justifications to everything. You'll just lose your temper with him and jeopardise the whole case.''

''That's why I've got you by my side,'' Boyd smirks, ''feel free to give my ankle your usual sharp kick whenever you think I might be in danger of crossing any lines.''

He heads decisively towards the interview rooms and Grace follows him reluctantly.

* * *

The fair-haired man jumps up from his chair the moment they enter.

''Where is my daughter?'', he demands heatedly. ''I have to see her! She's not used to being without me, she needs me!''

''Everything is OK with Angelica, '' Grace reassures him, ''I called the hospital to check how she's doing just before coming here. She had her supper and is sleeping now.''

Somewhat appeased by the information, Nigel Brown resumes his seat.

Boyd goes through the routine procedures, fixes the time, names the persons present.

''Mr. Brown, you have denied all offers to have your legal advisor present during the interview. If you haven't reconsidered, would you please confirm it once more for the record.''

That riles him up again. ''I don't want any bloody lawyers, all I want is to see Angelica! You have no right to deny me access to her!''

''I can assure you that everything really is all right with Angelica,'' Grace tries to calm him, ''she's under supervision of experienced specialists and gets all the necessary care and treatment.''

''Professional treatment, '' Boyd emphasises, ignoring Grace's warning look, ''that she should have received all along.''

''Professional treatment... experienced specialists...'', Nigel Brown drawls with derision. ''The only treatment they know is pumping her full of tranquillizers. My little sunshine girl who's always laughing and dancing! Do you know what these drugs do to her!? She literally fades like a flower, just sits in the corner with lifeless eyes. She doesn't need such bloody treatment! I can always calm her down and make smile again, regardless what all those self-conceited specialists say. She just has to be at home with me and everything will be all-right. You have no right to keep us apart!''

Ignoring him, Boyd opens the file he brought along, takes out some photos and spreads them in front of Nigel Brown.

''Brandon Ellis. Jakob Starek. Marc Carlisle. Do you still remember their real names? Or were they just Sean II, III, IV for you, replaceable toys for Angelica?

Nigel Brown glowers at him, but remains obstinately silent.

''You keep reminding us about Angelica's rights. What about these boys? Didn't they have a right to their real name, to normal childhood with their real parents?''

''Their real parents!'' He isn't able to hold his peace any longer, ''you call these pathetic excuses for mothers parents! It's a bloody miracle these tarts noticed the absence of their kids at all! You know damn well that all of them were mistreated and neglected, the perspective of being sent from one lousy foster home to another looming in the nearest future! I did them a favour!''

''So you admit abducting all of those boys, keeping them imprisoned in your house and presenting them to your daughter as the reincarnations of her dead brother?'' Despite Grace's former prediction, Boyd still looks utterly surprised to have reached his desired confession so easily.

''I saved them from misery and gave them real home and happy childhood! They had a room and TV just for themselves, every toy they could ever dream of. They were loved and cared for. All that was asked from them was to play nice with their new sister.''

''And all this time you knew that sooner or later they will share the tragic fate of your own unfortunate son.''

Nigel Brown looks stunned.

''Do you really think we haven't figured out what really happened? I bet you didn't fool anybody 6 years ago either, they just closed the case out of pity,'' Boyd remarks relentlessly. ''Proving Angelica's guilt wouldn't have brought Sean back.''

With his biggest secret so bluntly revealed, Nigel Brown seems to be completely off balance. Flustered, he mumbles:  
''I told him so many times, hundreds of times – be nice to your sister, don't tease her, don't touch her precious dolls...''

''Is that what happened?'', Grace inquires cautiously and not altogether without sympathy. ''A quarrel over a doll got out of hand?''

''I left them alone for five minutes, just five minutes... I thought Marcy would keep an eye on them...'' His haunted expression clearly tells he still sees the fatal events in his mind's eye. ''Sean hit Angie's favourite doll with a cricket hammer and broke it. And Angie just wanted to punish him... She didn't want to hurt him that bad... It was an accident, it wasn't her fault.''

Boyd doesn't seem to be touched by his sad story. ''No, it wasn't Angelica's fault. She's just an unfortunate sick child whose disability prevents her from telling right from wrong. But it was no accident – deliberately ignoring the advice of the doctors and not giving Angelica the medicines prescribed for her you directly caused your little son's death. Your wife couldn't live with it, but you didn't learn anything from the tragedy. Instead you created the possibilities of it's recurrence, two more little boys lost their lives.''

There's a lot more despair than defensive justification in Nigel Brown's voice. ''They say that Angelica doesn't feel and remember anything... What do they know! She started missing her brother right away. She didn't even miss her Mom so badly, well maybe because she's always been more of a daddy's little girl... But she never forgot Sean. 'Daddy, where is Sean? I want Sean! I want Sean!' And then she started to cry and just wouldn't stop. I couldn't see her like that, I had to do something. You should have seen the smile on her face when she once again had a brother to play with. I love my daughter, all I want is her to be happy... I just had to do it for her.''

''Oh, I see, it was all just one big act of love then!''

Grace doesn't like Boyd's sarcastic taunt – a warning sign that he is in danger of losing objectivity.  
But her attempts to get his attention and restrain him fail.

Boyd continues vehemently: ''As a result of that unconditional love your daughter has to spend the rest of her life in a secure wing of the psychiatric hospital. You have turned her into a monster. That's not love, that's the most abominable thing a parent could ever to his child.''

Nigel Brown jumps up again, red-faced and eyes burning furiously. ''My Angelica is not a monster!'', he bellows into Boyd's face, ''Who the hell are you to judge me, to tell me what love is or isn't?! You wouldn't know, would you? I really hope you don't have any kids, otherwise I really pity them. You clearly haven't got a clue what it really takes to love your own flesh and blood! People like you shouldn't be allowed to have children!''

Boyd's on his feet too, the wild gleam in his eyes just as fierce and for a moment Grace genuinely fears that the two men will jump at each other's throats.

It's Boyd's years-long habit of suppressing and hiding his emotional pain that saves the situation.  
Grace is surprised by the steely calmness of his voice.

''Sit down!''

There's something so suggestive and assertive in his tone and the destroying stare of dark eyes, that Nigel Brown obeys instantly. He pants heavily and a thin crimson stream starts oozing from one of his nostrils.

''We have to make a break now.'' Grace says resolutely.

The nosebleed seems to reduce Nigel Brown's temper considerably.  
''My Angelica is not a monster,'' he mumbles, more to himself. ''She's a sweet girl, a good girl, and she loves her brother very much... And so do I. I loved them all. You have no bloody idea how much I cried for them. I bet their so-called mothers didn't shed a single tear when they learned about their death. But I loved these boys as my very own and I cried my heart out over them.''

''That much I believe,'' Boyd states frostily, ''your crocodile tears and bleeding nose provided us with sufficient incriminating evidence.''

He declares the interview terminated, switches off the recorder and calls the officer behind the door to escort Nigel Brown away.

Before leaving the room Brown turns to face Boyd once more.  
''It would have worked this time, I know it would... This boy was special. They were just wonderful together. And you came and ruined everything! Remember this, Boyd, if anything should happen to my little girl, I'll make you pay for that! I swear I'll find a way and make you pay personally...''

Boyd seems to take no notice of him, but the familiar stony expression betrays Grace that Nigel Brown's former spiteful words hit the target. She's well aware of his tendency to hold himself responsible for Luke's tragic fate. He really didn't need such a stir up of all the deep-rooted self-accusations.

Boyd remains sitting for a long while, without a single word.

Grace touches his shoulder. ''You're OK?''

He doesn't react at first. Then her question seems to get through.

''Everything's fine.''

Grace knows it isn't. That forced and tense smile convinces her in the opposite rather.  
''I did warn you how it would be. This man had to live with all his dark secrets for so many years and today his illusionary world collapsed. That's why he's acting like a wounded animal, attacking and blaming everybody around him.''

''I know.'' Boyd squints to see the numbers on his wristwatch in the dim light.

''You're not planning to deal with the paperwork tonight, are you?'' Grace inquires anxiously.

''No, not tonight. I can't stay here tonight.'' He seems to be in real hurry suddenly and that confuses her.

Back in the squad-room, Boyd turns to his crew briefly. ''Good job everybody. Let's call it a day tonight. As regards the promised treat – nothing's forgotten, but we have to do it some other time. I really have to go tonight.''

He returns to his office only to collect his coat and car keys and his open-mouthed colleagues have to witness the unprecedented phenomenon of their boss being the first to leave. But the astonishment and slight disappointment over the postponed celebration won't last for long and in half an hour the CCU headquarters is deserted.

Grace is the one to turn off the lights tonight. Not sure what to think of Boyd's strange behaviour, she sincerely hopes he had a good reason for leaving, some social event preferably. She wouldn't even mind the involvement of that certain American lady Eve referred to before, just as long as Boyd didn't have to spend the night all alone, brooding over the venomous words of Nigel Brown.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6.**

Boyd stops the car on his driveway. To cast an absent-minded glance towards that upstairs window is an unconscious thing really. He freezes. The light is burning... Luke's bedroom... For one brief moment his heart is full of such overwhelming, unrealistic hope... Then the reality sinks in. Luke will never come home. Not any more. Luke is dead and buried. The only grim consolation is to know that for sure at last.

The traces of the present occupant of the upstairs bedroom are visible right away. Boyd hardly recognises his former impeccable living-room. The carpet is scattered with candy papers, apple cores and orange peels. Unwashed glasses and plates left in any imaginable place. All the couch cushions are down on the floor, forming some sort of nest in front of the TV. He takes a step forward, intending to pick them up and nearly smashes the TV remote under his foot. Several books have been dragged out of the shelf and misplaced later, ruining the usual straight lines. There's one still open on the couch, an half-eaten cheese sandwich manifestly left to serve as a bookmark, greasy fingerprints all over the pages. Boyd can literally feel his blood pressure hit records. That damned girl has undoubtedly turned his house into a pigsty in direct intention to test him. The best approach might probably be ignoring such deliberate provocation completely, but tonight he's just too fucking sick and tired to swallow it all up. He heads decisively up the stairs, determined to introduce her some basic rules of this household.

He finds the object of his vexation blissfully asleep, curled up in such a kitten-like way he just can't help smiling. It's so familiar to be in this room and watch the sleeping child. Countless times has he stood right there, watching little Luke sleep peacefully. Golden little moments, often the only ones he could spend with his son that day. And far too soon came the nights when no matter what time he reached home, the boy managed to show up even later. If he bothered to come at all. His anger has faded away, replaced by regret and melancholy and a distant hint of something long-forgotten that makes him bend over the girl and gently adjust her blanket before turning off the light and returning downstairs.

He discards the suit jacket and starts to clean up the mess in resignation.

Finally done with it, he sinks wearily on the couch. It's going to be a long night, sleepless despite the physical exhaustion. If he were alone, he'd just take that bottle of Scotch he always has in store for such occasions and refill his glass with the burning liquid until he reaches that deceptive state of numbness when all the disturbing thoughts become foggy and stop torturing. No chance of such easy escape tonight - he certainly can't get waisted having the girl on his responsibility.

That fleeting moment upstairs has somehow stirred up so many bitter-sweet memories. He has put everything reminding Luke carefully out of sight, but one photo is still easily available. He hasn't still got himself to remove it from his wallet.

Blue sky, green football field and Luke, broad smile on his face, holding the black-and-white squared ball above his head triumphantly. A reminder of a perfect day.

 _They used to be as close as any father and son could ever be and Luke - such a bright and lively kid, nothing predicting what was to come. How could everything go so wrong!?_

 _You don't have a clue what it takes to really love your own flesh and blood..._

 _He's done his job long enough to know better than to pay too much attention to the accusations, insolence and threats thrown at him by someone he's just nailed for murder. But in this case that bastard Nigel Brown just said out loud his own deepest fear, the doubt constantly gnawing his heart._

 _He did love his son, with all his heart, from that glorious moment the little screaming bundle was put on his hands for the first time. But what if all the love and affection he had to offer just wasn't enough to keep Luke out of harms way, wasn't enough to help him find his way back..._

 _Maybe Mary realised that and therefore kept insisting that they should admit defeat and get divorced despite of all his stubborn efforts to keep the failing marriage together.  
_ _''I'm doing it for Luke's sake,'' he used to justify himself.  
_ _''So am I!'' she snapped back._

 _Maybe it wasn't about defiance and self-interest at all and had he let her go and take the boy with her everything could have been different._

 _People like you shouldn't be allowed to have children..._

He buries his face into his hands, knowing well that there won't be any tears to offer some temporary relief from the burning angst.

 _After that one moment of weakness and despair in the morgue he pulled himself together and faced everything with dignity. This tragedy wasn't just an evil twist of fate, he fully acknowledged his guilt and therefore had no right to lament and cry. That's why he so bluntly turned down Grace's every whole-hearted offer to be the shoulder to cry on, unable to explain her that his way was to clench his teeth and accept all the pain and grief as deserved punishment. And now he seems to have forgotten how to cry altogether, only long hours behind the computer screen and cold windy days proving that his eyes still had the ability to produce drops of fluid._

* * *

''Is something wrong?''

He almost jumps, having not heard the girl come downstairs. Lost in depressive reflection he momentarily forgot her existence altogether.

She stands in front of him, dressed in flower-patterned pyjamas, long hair loose around her shoulders. And the concern on her face is absolutely sincere.

''What are you doing up that late?'' Boyd demands, hoping to elude answering her question.

''Woke up thirsty, wanted some juice.'' Brief and logical explanation. She keeps scrutinizing him. ''What's the matter with you?''

''I'm fine.''

Erin doesn't fall for a statement that clearly lacks conviction and enthusiasm.  
''You don't look fine at all. You look ill. I can make you some hot tea with honey if you like! Or maybe you need a headache pill or something...?''

All day he gets nothing but defiance and now in the middle of the night she suddenly decides to be so sociable!  
Boyd gives an irritated sigh. ''It's past midnight and I'm dog-tired, so yes, sure I don't look my very best right now. All I need is to be left in peace. Just grab your glass of juice or milk or whatever you wanted and go back to sleep!''

His aim to get rid of the girl is too brusque and she looks truly offended.

He tries to soften his recent sharpness, managing a bleak smile. ''It is very nice of you to be concerned about me, but there's really no need to worry, everything is OK. I just had a rough day at work.''

Mentioning that is a big mistake, he realises a moment later, confronted with the waterfall of childish curiosity.

''It was a murder case, wasn't it? Who was killed? Why? How? Who did it? Did you catch the murderer?'' Erin has perched herself on the opposite end of the couch, fully determined to get the answers.

He stops her sternly. ''I can't discuss police matters with you.''

''Why not? It's not some top secret thing, is it? And I won't tell anybody anything, honest! Oh, I see,'' her expression turns into a knowing smirk, ''it was something _so creepy_ you just don't want to tell me about it.''

''It wasn't anything particularly 'creepy','' he admits to fend her off, ''Just ordinary police work, nothing interesting for you...''

''But it had to be bad enough if you can't get any sleep because of it! You know, our teacher once said that when you're upset about something and feel really bad, it's always good to talk about it with somebody. It really helps, trust me! You can talk to me. Don't worry, I won't get any nightmares, I've probably seen much worse stuff on TV already.''

Boyd nearly groans. Just the thing he needs – an amateur psychologist right on his very own living room couch. And far more persistent than the professional one he's got at work. If he wants to get rid of her, he has to tell her something. He quickly tries to put together a suitably adapted version of the case. And naturally that damned girl has to make it extra hard, interrupting him with so many specifying questions that it feels pretty much like being cross-examined by an over-eager defence lawyer in the end.

''...that sick girl is in the hospital now and her father is in prison so they can't do any harm ever again. And that boy got back to his mother again. So you see – everything ended really well. No reason for any nightmares,'' he concludes with well-feigned optimism, not entirely sure whom he tries to convince in the overall positive outcome more – Erin or himself rather.

To his relief Erin seems to be finally satisfied and ready to leave. Then the photograph that's still on the table catches her attention.

''Is this the boy you managed to save?''

A handful of burning salt straight into the never-healing wound. His answer is barely audible.  
''No, I couldn't save him...''

''You're so sad because of him then, right? Because something happened to him?'' She doesn't miss the sudden change in him. ''Oh God, he died, didn't he?''

Boyd gives an almost involuntary nod.

''What happened?''

The sudden wave of grief has left him no strength to fence off the painful topic. He tells. Without mincing the words or avoiding the gory details this time, not really considering who he's talking to. He just repeats the monologue he's played in his head for so many times on sleepless nights - the admission of all the faults and failures, the faint attempts to persuade himself that the tragic outcome was unavoidable, that everything he could possibly do was done.

''You really must have cared a lot for him...''

It's said with sympathy, not meaning to irritate, but Boyd's overtired brain interprets it as yet another attempt to question his love and dedication to his son.

''Of course I bloody cared for him! He was my only son! I would have given my life for him!'' he bellows, eyes burning with pain and anger, unaware of his fist lifting and crashing hard against the coffee table in futile despair.

Erin rockets up from the couch, genuine fear in her eyes.

Boyd fights hard to regain control, truly regretting his outburst. ''I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to... Don't be afraid, I would never hurt you... I warned you how tired and weary I was and asked you to leave me alone tonight, didn't I? Why didn't you listen?''

Erin keeps a safe distance and eyes him very suspiciously, ready to run at any possible sign of threat.  
She seems to be dumbfounded by both his shocking revelations and recent fury. All the more surprising is her sudden tearful outburst.  
''I wish Luke never took those stupid wretched drugs! Now I'll never get to meet my big brother!''

Everything is clear and simple suddenly. So perfectly crystal clear.  
 _Brother and sister... Erin is Luke's little sister... his child the very same way..._

This overwhelming comprehension takes time to sink in and Boyd's definitely not ready for the following.

''Would you have wanted me if I were a boy instead?''

He looks at her in utter confusion, in his current state of mind this question makes absolutely no sense.

''I just thought that you didn't want any kids at all. But you had Luke and you loved him so much... Because he was a boy and you just always wanted to have a son, right? That's why you were so disappointed to find out about me.''

It starts to dawn him what she has in mind. With a pang of guilt he has to admit having given his daughter more than enough reason to reach such conclusion.  
He really hopes to sound convincing. ''Erin, dear, it's not like that, not like that at all... I'm so sorry I've left you such a wrong impression. I know I haven't been there for you, but it's all going to change now. I'll try my best to make it all up to you. From now on we're going to spend much more time together, I promise!''

Defiance is back in her voice.  
''I don't want to! I don't want you to be with me just because you feel obligated to do that! You don't have to lie to me to make me feel better - I already know that Kelly and you both wish that I was never born at all! I was right behind the door when you said that, I heard everything!''

''Oh God, no...,'' aghast, Boyd momentarily closes his eyes. Having no idea how he could possibly undo such damage, he still hurtles to rescue.  
''Darling, I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry that you had to hear all that. Please believe me... your mother and me, we were just having a stupid argument and were angry with each other and that made us say some very stupid and thoughtless things. You've got to believe me, sweetie, that's not the way we really feel about you, neither of us actually meant any of it...''

Little fists clench and teeth grasp the lower lip in strict determination not to waste a single tear on someone who's not worth it.

''Do you really think I didn't know it all before!? It's no secret Kelly never wanted me – that's why she doesn't want to be called 'mom', that's why she never was around when I was little... It didn't matter then, I had Granny - she was the best! We were so happy together, didn't need anyone else! When Granny had an heart-attack and was in the hospital, she made Kelly swear to take care of me after her death and now she's acting as if she was doing me some enormous favour. Well, guess what – I never asked to be born! And you...you don't want me either, all you want is to have Luke back. I should have died instead of Luke, so everybody would be happy!''

The brave battle with the tears is about to be lost, Erin turns around abruptly and flees upstairs, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her.

He storms after her, driven by desperate fear that if he can't sort it all out right away, he's going to loose this child even before really getting to know her.

A well-targeted pillow hits him the moment he opens the bedroom door.

''Go away! Leave me alone!''

Another pillow is launched at him, followed by a stack of magazines and some items of clothing. Then the available ammunition runs out and with that all the belligerence of the little girl seems to die away. She just bursts into tears, crouching on the bed like a little pile of misery.

The twist this sight causes in Boyd's heart is so raw and intense that all his apparently dead parental instincts are fully alert instantly. He buries the weeping child in his embrace, as if attempting to absorb all her pain and sorrow into himself. He must have got that right, for instead of pushing him away and struggling free Erin throws her arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately.

Holding his child for the first time 11 years too late doesn't belittle the overwhelming sensation that from this moment on his life has a whole new centre-point. It changes everything, it's just... too much to condense into words.

Before he can gather himself enough to say anything, a master-class of conveying everything necessary with just one right word is demonstrated.

''Daddy!''

His abrupt flinch is absolutely involuntary. This simple childish word evokes too many controversial memories. There are bitter-sweet ones from the long-forgotten good old times, when hearing this word in the very same bedroom was most natural thing, but there's also the haunting one of Luke calling him to bring him back to his senses in that derelict warehouse.

''You don't want me to call you 'Dad'? '' Erin suggests in quiet disappointment, her eyes clearly reflecting she didn't consider the possibility that both her dysfunctional parents might have the same issue.

It shouldn't be happening, with Luke gone nobody should have no reason, no right to call him that way any more...  
Except for this little girl with tear-soaked cheeks and tousled hair.

''Darling, I want to be your dad more than anything else in the world!'' It's spontaneous and wholehearted and comes out easy. Some more things need to be said right here and now, disregarding that burning lump in his throat.

''Baby-girl, I love you more than anything else in the world! Promise me to always remember that! Whatever happens, nothing will ever change that! You mean everything to me and I will always love you and all I ever want is for you to be happy! Promise me not to forget that!''

A flicker of understanding shows in Erin's eyes. She even smiles fleetingly, glad to have figured out something important about her complicated and slightly intimidating father. A moment later she's completely serious, almost solemn and looks him deep in the eye.

''Daddy, I will never-ever run away from you! I promise! ''

* * *

Boyd opens his eyes. The gnawing pain in his back has become unbearable. No wonder, considering the way he has spent the night – sleeping in an uncomfortable position, clothes on, in a bed too short for him. One look at his still sleeping companion is enough to make all the discomfiture meaningless. He wants to get up quietly and arrange the curtains so the morning light won't disturb her, but his stiff limbs make him clumsy and Erin's eyes flicker open already. For a moment there's sleepy confusion on her face. The following smile overshadows the morning sun.

''Good morning, Daddy!'' Like the most natural thing in the world.

 _The very first morning of the rest of his life...  
_ This rather lame cliché suddenly seems very appropriate to describe the whole situation.

''You've got to go to work already?'' Erin doesn't sound particularly happy over the prospect of another lonely day.

They pretty much closed the case last night, only the tedious paperwork left. For years he hasn't taken a single day off...  
A firm decision starts to form in his mind.

''I have to make a call.''

Maybe he does sound a little hoarse due to last night's emotional roller-coaster. At least Spence instantly assumes he's ill. That wasn't Boyd's initial plan, but it is an easy one to play along. Spence seems to buy everything without reservations, eagerly promises to hold the fort and deal with the paperwork, even wishes him fast recovery, trying to sound suitably concerned, but still failing to completely hide the joy over a chance to be the one in judge while the boss is absent. That makes him smirk bitterly. But Boyd knows he can trust his DI. He gives a tormented cough and finishes the call with the sanctimonious declaration that he would have come to work despite of his illness unless it wasn't really inconsiderate of him to bring everybody germs.

He hears a snicker behind him and discovers that Erin has quietly returned from the bathroom and probably overheard most of the conversation.

''Don't you get any wise ideas to use these tactics to get a day off school, young lady!'' He tries his best to sound stern. Unsuccessfully. Erin's hilarious giggling is infectious and they end up laughing together. A far better option than the shared tears of last night.

''Enough of fun now,'' Boyd finally decides. ''Time to make ourselves something really good for breakfast and discuss the strategy how to make the most of what's left of your school holiday.''

The eager answering nod gives hope that the sulky girl of past few days is permanently replaced with a cheerful and cooperative one.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7.**

It's easy for Grace to figure out the reason for such exceptionally easy atmosphere in the squad-room.

''Boyd's not here yet?'' she suggests.

''And won't be coming at all today! Called me at some ungodly hour, told he's not feeling well and takes a day off,'' Spence informs her.

''In what sense 'not feeling well'...?''

Spence shrugs. ''A touch of flu or something like that I reckon. Sounded suspiciously quiet for himself. Nothing but a really sore throat would force Boyd to keep his voice down while giving orders.''

''He's probably caught that nasty bug circulating around here,'' Stella offers, ''half of the Met has been down with it already, so I've heard. I considered him immune to everything, but apparently he's still one of us earthlings after all,'' she jests.

''Or maybe he just started to regret his promise to give us that big treat and hopes to hide away until we forget all about it, ''Spence remarks, smirking.

''Don't worry, if you take care of all the dull paperwork for him the reward will be accordingly generous,'' Grace reassures him.

''Something to look forward then,'' Spence's smile becomes contented, ''besides, I don't mind doing paperwork the least bit if that's what it takes to ensure that guys like Nigel Brown will rot in prison for good.''

''A nice and quiet Boyd-free office day - that's somewhat treat itself,'' Stella chuckles. Spence joins her.

Grace shakes her head in mock reproval and heads to her office.

It's hard to concentrate on work this morning despite the peace and quiet. She doesn't like the state of things at all – neither the hectic behaviour of Boyd in past few weeks, nor his stony expression and distraction in the interview room last night. And she certainly doesn't buy the lame excuse for his absence, having witnessed more than one occasions of Boyd discharging himself from hospital against all common sense only to run back to work right away. A man like that would never take a day off due to some trivial cold or lousy feeling. Is he really starting to fail to pull himself together? She decides to give him a call and try to gauge his emotional sate. Not right away, that would seem meddlesome. A bit later and on the pretext of something work-related. She's definitely not going to stand by and watch him free fall.

* * *

Sunday afternoon has turned into late evening. Grace's living-room is warm and cosy. The psychology magazine with that intriguing article she's been looking forward to reading all week is waiting for her on the coffee table. She really should be enjoying the evening, instead of spending it on tenterhooks. The reason for her distress is ridiculous actually - Boyd is a grown man, and she by any means not his keeper, God forbid her from such thankless job. But it's just so unlike him to keep his phone switched off and not to check his voice mail either. She has tried the landline multiple times as well, without any luck. And now it's been almost three days... She keeps assuring herself that it doesn't necessarily mean something bad. The only reason why she hasn't jumped in her car and driven across the city to check on him yet is that persistently lingering doubt Eve's casual hint about Sarah's possible return has planted into her heart. If that really is the case, her unexpected appearance wouldn't do anybody any good.

The loud knock on her front door interrupts her reflection instantly. It's a very special kind of firm and demanding knock that you'd expect to be followed by loud and firm ''Open up! Police!''

She doesn't fail in guessing the identity of her late visitor. It is Boyd. A little bit different Boyd from the one she's used to seeing every day at work, though. The dress code for the weekend off is smart casual apparently, the suit replaced with well-worn jeans, white sweater and denim jacket. The man has armed him properly, a bottle of excellent red wine in one hand and a lovely rose in the other. The latter is definitely out of character as far as Boyd is concerned, but she knows he can do things like that on a whim.

''Can I come in, perhaps?'' He sounds a bit hesitant.

Grace starts to laugh, realising she's forgotten herself to contemplate him for far too long.

''I can't possibly leave a gentleman who brings me wine and roses standing on my doorstep, can I? By the way, what have I done to deserve all this?''

''Oh, just an humble attempt to make amends for not answering your calls,'' delivered with that all-conquering grin that makes holding a grudge against him utterly impossible.

She can't still help one little thorn. ''You seem to have recovered remarkably well from that mysterious deadly virus that took you down on Friday. Or should I perhaps wear a mask in your company to be on the safe side?''

''Oh that... wasn't quite so bad,'' Boyd looks embarrassed, ''and Spence just tends to jump into conclusions too easily.''

''I thought so,'' Grace nods knowingly. '' In fact I would have been much less worried for you if you really were down with the flu.''

''Sorry about that, you really shouldn't have...'' he starts regretfully. Then he seems to remember something that amuses him. ''To humour you – there is actually a pretty good chance I end up in bed with a nasty cold, considering all that ice-cream I've eaten in past few days,'' he chuckles.

Grace regards him quizzically, not sure what to think of such weird statement. She is immensely relieved to see no sign of the gloom and depression she had feared for. But something is still... quite not right with him. He gives his best to be the usual nonchalant, confident self, but the effort in it betrays him. If Boyd shows up at her place like this, there has to be a very good reason for it. The need to get something off his chest must be unbearable. There is no point in asking him directly, pushing him will usually give the opposite result. No, she has to be extra careful, or he might change his mind about confiding her altogether. Grace knows from bitter experience how easily that happens.

She gives him some time to calm and settle down, dealing with finding a suitable vase for the rose and collecting the wine glasses and bottle opener from the kitchen.

Boyd has discarded his jacket and taken place on the couch, legs stretched out.  
Grace suppresses a chuckle at a fleeting thought what a nuisance manoeuvring around such long legs on daily basis might be.  
Realising he's blocking her way, Boyd adjusts his position guiltily. He looks tense, as if waiting for a queue to start.

Grace leans back in the armchair, thoroughly enjoying the first sips of excellent red wine. ''So, what else have you done then, besides eating too much ice-cream?'' she probes.

Boyd's deep-rooted habit to keep things to himself makes opening up difficult. The self-conscious and wavering first steps needs to be overcome, but then there's no more holding back nor looking back.

Grace allows him to pour it all out, without any comments or questions. Until she really needs to intervene to restrain Boyd's characteristically excessive self-condemnation.

''Boyd, you can't establish your relationship with Erin on constant guilt and regret! Yes, it's wrong and hurtful that you didn't see her grow up and she would have certainly deserved to have a loving father from the very beginning, but you should focus on the future right now. What really counts is that you two finally met and got to know each other at all. She's only 11, you have got plenty of happy years together still ahead.

''And I nearly ruined that chance as well, didn't I?'', Boyd remarks gloomily. ''I can never forgive myself hurting her like that, for making her feel neglected and unwanted... There's absolutely no excuse for that. I just can't understand what the hell was wrong with me - as if there were a bloody wall around me that kept me from realising...''

Grace gives him a sympathetic smile. ''In a manner of speaking it really was a 'wall', created by your own subconsciousness to protect you''

''Protect me from what?'', he frowns in confusion. ''From my own child!?''

''From getting hurt again. The paradox is that loving someone dearly gives you someone to loose. You experienced the most painful loss ever possible. And with it all still raw, being a parent still equalling grief and sorrow for you, you were suddenly confronted with the fact that Luke wasn't the only one from whose life you were excluded for so many years. All this would be too much for anybody. Your inner defence mechanisms set to work to eliminate any possible recurrence of the heartache. Blocking out your emotions and keeping the physical distance provided some deceptive safety. Doesn't matter what Kelly's actual motives were, but she really did you a favour by forcing you out of the illusionary comfort-zone. I'm sure that one day you would have reached the comprehension yourself, but it would have cost a lot of valuable time. With Erin at your place things just escalated. What you still needed was that final trigger - Erin identifying herself as Luke's baby sister - and the wall came tumbling down.''

''I wasn't going to tell her about Luke at all, '' Boyd confesses, ''at least not right away. Thought it would be better this way...''

''Better for her or easier for you, rather?'' Grace proffers.

''Yeah... You're probably right,'' he concedes. ''I took extra care to put all Luke's things out of sight - just wasn't ready to face her questions. Last night she dragged everything back down from the loft, told me she wanted to get to know Luke better...''

''And it's hard for you?'', she suggests.

''Actually...,'' he swallows hard, ''it feels like getting a part of Luke back somehow. Does it sound crazy?''

''Absolutely not.'' she shakes her head slightly with an understanding smile. ''I've been trying to tell you for months that blocking out all your memories doesn't help, it won't diminish the pain and grief. The precious memories of our lost love one's help us to carry on. And telling Erin about Luke gives you a chance to cherish all the good things you remember of your son.''

''You know, we even visited the graveyard yesterday,'' Boyd reveals a bit hesitantly. ''She suggested it herself, wanted to show me where her grandmother was buried and after that we went to Luke's grave,'' he pauses for a moment, ''...and... standing there with Erin by my side, holding my hand, I felt peace for the first time in all these months.''

''You've both lost someone very dear recently and the way you help each other to cope is really good. Erin has experienced the same intense grief over her grandmother and that enables her to understand what losing Luke meant to you and even grasp your fears for her as well. You just have to be careful not to let her compassion turn into a need to make amends for her dead brother. That's not fair to her.''

''Amongst all other things.'' Boyd gives a deep sigh. ''I'm so afraid of saying or doing something wrong. After all these years I still can't figure out what and when exactly went so wrong with Luke. What if I do the same mistakes again? What if I ruin Erin's life as well?''

''I don't think you'll be able to make exactly the same mistakes. One very good cause to prevent that is the slightly disappointing issue that Erin herself pointed out – she's not a boy...'' Grace just needs to make that sting.

''Oh, for Christ's sake now you're starting with that as well... How could you possibly think that...''

''But there's a point in it still. And it's good actually, makes it easier to turn a fresh page.''

Boyd remains silent for a while.  
''Being as fucked up as I am... maybe I'm beyond that point of fresh starts already?'' He sounds quite desperate.

Grace smiles reassuringly.  
''Hardly. You've made a huge step forward already, finally admitting that there are issues you need to deal with.''

''Oh, I've been aware of that all along,'' he admits, ''there just wasn't much point to make the effort having left nothing but that wretched job and knowing well that the Met would kick me overboard in next couple of years regardless of any possible character reform. And now I've suddenly got so much to live for... I'll do anything for Erin's sake... The problem just is that all these therapies and shrinks, no matter how distinguished specialists, won't do me any good. I can't bring myself to confide in some stranger.'' He pauses before the earnest entreaty. ''Grace, you once told me that I can come to you when I really need help. Does this offer still hold? I know it's a bloody ungrateful task, but... will you still consider it?''

Grace looks the complicated man in front of her with compassion. When it comes to grief and pain, he buries it all deep inside, rejects all the offers to ease his burden and stubbornly bears his cross all alone. And now that something completely opposite happens – a positive, happy turn in his life - now he's at such a loss that makes him ask for help.  
She moves next to him on the couch, takes his hand and squeezes it encouragingly.  
''You can always come to me! Whenever you want, on your own terms. Don't be afraid - I'm not going to force my opinion on you how you should live your life or raise your daughter. What I will do is give a bit of advice, turn your attention to things you've missed yourself... And if I can be of any help to you, I'm very glad.''

''You have no idea how much you've already helped me.'' A completely sincere statement.  
Boyd's gaze on her is so intense and there's something in his mesmerizing dark eyes that Grace hasn't seen there before, hasn't ever dared to hope seeing... Then his face is already too close. The unexpected kiss is good and ardent, and yes, for a moment the time just stops. When they draw apart eventually, there's such a triumphant 'can't believe myself I really dared!' schoolboy smile on Boyd's face that Grace just has to reach out her hand and ruffle the tousled fringe of silvery hair. She not entirely sure what this wonderful kiss really was - a spontaneous and slightly thoughtless expression of utter trust and gratitude or a revelation something much deeper that she thinks having momentarily seen in his eyes.

''Peter...,'' she starts, feeling a bit tongue-tied. To call him 'Boyd' on a moment like that seems absolutely impossible.

He gives an amused snort. ''I've only just come to terms with being called 'dad' again and now you suddenly decide to switch to my next to never used first name. I may end up in severe identity crises like that, you know!''

Grace starts to laugh. ''Rest assured,'' she promises, ''I will most certainly stick to 'Boyd' at work, no fear of any embarrassment in the squad room tomorrow morning.''

''If I'll be able to drag myself there at all,'' he shakes his head, ''three days in the company of a Duracell bunny – I'm completely worn out. All the things we've done and places we've been – you have no idea...''

''You two should take things a bit slower then, '' Grace smirks, ''all the catching up can't be done in just one weekend.''

''It's not that I didn't enjoy it,'' Boyd adds hurriedly, ''it was pure fun. I just need to get used to it .''  
The smile on his face is sincere and long-lasting, very different from the tense fleeting ones she's seen in recent months.  
But tired he certainly looks, emotionally probably much more than physically.

''What you need first of all is a good night sleep,'' Grace says decisively. ''You'd better go home and straight to bed now. And no more doubts or fears or guilty feelings tonight, just allow yourself to be peaceful and happy! You have every reason for that. Erin is not going to disappear anywhere... and... neither will I.''

That mysterious glint in the dark eyes is back and Grace realises he is about to kiss her again. She can't let that happen, not trusting herself to do the right thing after that, which certainly is sending him home tonight. She quickly reaches out her hand and places it against his chest - a warm and friendly touch, but cunningly creating the essential safe distance between them as well.''

''Please, Peter,'' she insists, ''you really have to get some rest.''

He gives a deep resigned sigh. ''As the good doctor orders.''

Such obedience is very uncharacteristic, just proving how exhausted and all over the place he really is.

Grace feels relieved he's not making things complicated. Tonight is not the night to rush in and make hasty decisions, one earth-moving life change at a time is just enough for Boyd. She sees Boyd out with a friendly hug and an exhortation to drive safely, trying to reconcile her own wildly protesting heart with an honest promise to find out the true meaning of that wonderful kiss in the nearest future.


End file.
